


Soul Surrender

by awarrington



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bisexuality, First Time, Humor, M/M, Thriller, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/pseuds/awarrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle are put on the case to investigate a smear campaign aimed at senior MPs immediately before a General Election. The bad publicity could tip the balance of power and Cowley wants to know who's behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 1997 as a novella by Kathleen Resch with original cover artwork by Caren Parnes
> 
> I'm uploading this unedited from the original, so apologies for the quality of writing from back then!

Ray Doyle walked over to one of the large wash-basins, its porcelain cracked and yellowing. Turning the old brass tap, he waited for the water to run its course through the Victorian plumbing and caught his reflection in the mirror. The sight gave him a jolt. Although he had become used to the way he had been looking while officially off sick, now he was back at work, his appearance suddenly seemed out of place. He was thinner than ever, his curly hair hanging lank, framing a gaunt face. Unshaded bulbs suspended on long wires from the high ceiling cast a harsh undiffused light which seemed to emphasise the rings under his green eyes. The effect was to make them appear darker and more pronounced.

A shudder of the pipes and the water began to flow, giving him a welcome distraction. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of the medicated soap, he reached out to the towel dispenser with dripping wet hands and then cursed as he bent down and peered up into it to confirm his suspicion that it was empty. With a sigh and a fleeting thought about the stinginess of a certain Scotsman in CI5, he exited the lavatory and cannoned into Anson in the corridor.

"Well, if it isn't Raymond Doyle as I live and breathe," grinned the agent.

"Not lost your powers of observation in my absence…oi, pack it in!" he spluttered, waving his arms about in a vain attempt to disperse the dense cloud of cigar smoke that had just been blown into his face. "It's taken me six bloody months to get fit enough to get back on the squad," he scowled. "Don't need you tryin' to poison me with that evil-smellin' stuff the moment I'm back."

Anson managed to look hurt at this suggestion, not that Doyle was taken in for one moment.

"How long have you been back?" asked Anson.

"Couple of weeks. Cowley's got me on light duties." Doyle's expression told his colleague exactly what he thought of that. 

"You need fattening up, my lad," Anson observed mildly. "A week of surveillance, eating fish and chips out of old newspapers ought to do the trick - I'll have a word with Cowley about it next time I see him."

"You're all heart, you know that?"

"You're the first person to notice," Anson replied with a grin.

"Now I wonder why? Anyway, where've you been all this time?"

A sardonic look crossed Anson's face. "While you've been swanning around these hallowed halls, me and Lawley've been on an obbo in Newcastle. Big drugs ring."

"Any results?"

"Yup. Got the two ringleaders downstairs. We're just about to start questioning them." Anson poked a finger into Doyle's ribs. "I'll bet Macklin went easy on you 'cos he felt sorry for your pining partner."

Doyle grinned. "Yeah, believe that an' you'll believe anythin'. I thought I felt bad during those four weeks in hospital - but it was a holiday compared to two weeks of Macklin at his nastiest."

Anson smiled at Doyle's exaggeration, understanding that his colleague wanted to downplay his shooting. "Yeah, well given a choice, I know which I'd go for."

For once, Doyle didn't want to dwell on the past and quickly changed the subject. "Me 'n' Bodie are goin' for a drink to celebrate my glorious return to the A squad - I'm back on full duties as of tomorrow. You gonna be long interrogating?"

"All bloody night, knowing our luck," grumbled Anson mournfully. "Those two are tighter than a gnat's arse." He thrust out his hand. "Anyway welcome back." The small smile that played about Doyle's lips made him immediately wary.

"Ta mate," said Doyle, shaking the agent's hand vigorously. "Gotta shift, see you later." With that, he strode off down the corridor.

As Doyle turned a corner, he paused to watch with a grin as Anson glanced up at the sign on the door through which he had come and then with a slightly disgusted look, down at his palm, now rather damp from his grip. With great dignity, Anson headed towards the interrogation rooms, surreptitiously wiping his hand against his trousers.

Since Doyle's route took him past the rest room, he dropped in to see who else was around. Taking in the untidy room at a glance, he addressed its sole occupant, whose long, slim body was sprawled across the sofa reading a newspaper.

"Blimey, where is everyone?"

Murphy lowered his paper and looked at Doyle incredulously, his wide blue eyes accentuated by the dark brows and hair. "What planet you been on?" At Doyle's inquisitive expression he explained, "A couple of Bader-Meinhoff terrorists were tracked down in Brighton. Cowley sent three teams down there and left me standing-by. I assumed you and Bodie'd gone."

"Don't officially start full duty 'til tomorrow," Doyle pointed out. "Been havin' yet another scintillatin' day down in records. You know, an atom bomb could've gone off in the West End and we'd've been none the wiser." Doyle scowled. "I swear after the past two weeks if I don't see that soddin' place ever again, it'll be too soon. At least I had company today…" A smile brightened his face. "Mind you, that was only 'cos he got up the Cow's nose yesterday."

Murphy grinned back, knowing as well as Cowley and Doyle how much Bodie hated spending any time down in the dusty confines of the records section. "What did he do to get that reward?"

"Dunno, " said Ray, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Been meanin' to ask him. So, I take it you can't make it for a drink with me 'n' Bodie?"

Murphy shook his head sorrowfully. "Nah, I don't kick off until half eleven."

Doyle shrugged and muttered, "All I need now is for Bodie to find an excuse…" He made to leave.

"Ray…"

Doyle turned. "Yeah?"

"It's good to have you back, mate."

He knew Murphy was more aware than most how hard he'd worked to get himself fit enough to return to full duty - Cowley would have accepted no less. "Missed me, did you?" he grinned.

Murphy smiled back. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I did," he replied and meant it. "This place hasn't seemed the same without you." Then, on a lighter note, "Too tidy for one… Oi! That's rude, that is!"

Having bestowed a two-fingered salute on his colleague, Doyle left to find his partner, leaving a grinning Murphy to his solitary confinement.

The day staff having left over two hours earlier, Bodie was sitting alone, poring over some records which, by the look on his face, were refusing to give up their secrets. Pausing unnoticed in the doorway, he gazed at his partner affectionately. Bodie's short, dark hair contrasted with his pale skin, the dark brows and lashes emphasising his blue eyes. His cream-coloured shirt was tight, showing off his well-muscled torso. Bodie was taller and more thickset than Doyle, built for strength rather than speed.

Doyle was well aware that his partner often relied on the fact that his dark, brooding looks and powerful physique acted as a deterrent to all but the most determined or foolhardy.

Yet, despite outward appearances, Bodie had a soft streak for those close to him. During Doyle's recovery, his partner had practically moved in, working with him to get his fitness back. In that time he felt they had grown much closer.

Since he'd been back at work, he'd hardly seen Bodie - in fact, not since those first few weeks after his shooting had he seen him so little. Although they'd never talked about it, he'd put his partner's absence down to anger and perhaps a sense of betrayal of trust. The stupid lapse that had allowed Mayli to get into his flat had nearly cost him his life; what if he'd made a similar mistake but it had been Bodie who'd paid? His partner trusted him implicitly and therefore, he conceded, his withdrawal and anger had been more than justified. After all, he had hesitated to shoot and that mistake had nearly cost him his life.

The memory of that time still stung, not so much at Bodie's attitude, but for the near loss of what he now understood was an important friendship. Bodie played not only a pivotal role in his professional life, but his absence had forced him to recognise how much he relied on and valued his friend for the support and caring that he unobtrusively offered. At the time, he'd felt resentment not only of Bodie's withdrawal, but paradoxically of his apparent reliance on Bodie's friendship. However, when it came to it, he felt a monumental relief when Bodie had decided apparently to forgive him. Bodie, being Bodie, had taken things one step further and had been instrumental in his return to the squad, their friendship deepening even further in the process.

"You finished there, mate?"

Bodie snapped shut the file he was holding and promptly sneezed from the dust his action threw off it. "Took your time. You should try syrup of figs; that'll get your bowels moving."

Doyle left his position in the doorway. "Wasn't in the bog all that time. Was tryin' to drum up some interest from the lads in goin' for a drink."

Bodie perked up. "Who's coming then?"

"No-one," said Doyle, sitting down next to a micro-fiche viewer. "They've all sodded-off to the seaside to play hide and seek with a couple of German terrorists." He smiled and added, "You must've really pissed the Cow off yesterday for him not to send you. "

"Yeah well, you're not signed back on full duty 'til tomorrow, so he couldn't send us if he'd wanted to." Bodie wandered down an aisle to replace the file he'd been perusing.

"Except that our partnership doesn't officially get reinstated 'til tomorrow," Doyle pointed out. "Until then you're still solo, so he could've sent you." More to himself than to Bodie he added, "I've hardly seen you since I've been back, what with him havin' you chasin' all over the bleedin' country." As Bodie returned into view, Doyle grinned and added wickedly, "Maybe you're here 'cos he thinks you need a rest, petal."

Bodie grunted but said nothing; picking up another file he turned to a nearby cabinet.

Doyle hadn't finished yet. "It just occurred to me when I saw him sittin' up there all alone, that Murph would've made a good partner for you while I was off. Why didn't Cowley arrange that? At least you know him quite well."

Bodie paused at the open drawer. "Nah, it wouldn't have worked." He threw Doyle a long-suffering look. "Took me two years to train you up to my standards and you were only away six months. I couldn't have gone through all that again with Murph." 

Doyle laughed, indulging his partner. It felt good to be back at his side. "Yeah, an' you'd still be rushing around like a bull in a china shop if I hadn't shown you any better. I taught you finesse, I did." His comment was greeted with a derisive snort. As he started clearing away the micro-films he'd been working through that day, he refrained from looking at Bodie as he casually asked, "So, what was it you did to make The Cow banish you down here today?"

Bodie reached over to the table and picked up another file to be put away. "Not a lot - he was in a bad mood."

"Come on," Doyle persisted. "He doesn't sentence anyone to records without good reason…"

Bodie threw him an incredulous look.

"Well, not usually, anyway," Doyle conceded.

Bodie scanned the files in an open drawer as he explained, "He wanted me to do a solo undercover job - I'd've been away at least a week, maybe two."

"And…?"

"I refused to do it." He closed the drawer and opened another.

Doyle stared at his partner's back. If Bodie was here, then Cowley must have capitulated. "Bloody 'ell Bodie, I'm surprised you're still in one piece. What was the job?"

Bodie swung round abruptly. "What's with all the flipping questions?"

Doyle immediately regretted pushing Bodie and let it show.

"Nothing to do with the job if you must know", said Bodie, glaring at him. "How about I told him I thought I should be back with you on your first day back with the squad? Don't make me regret it, Doyle." Snatching another file, he stomped off to the other end of the room.

Doyle knew where the anger stemmed from and smiled. It had nothing to do with his nosiness, as he had at first supposed. Bodie was not given to overt declarations, and admissions of friendship and loyalty were rare. Having them forced from him, as Doyle had inadvertently done, was something he didn't like. The gruffness, he recognised, simply covered Bodie's embarrassment.

He smiled further at what Cowley had done. The sly old bastard, he thought with amusement. If Bodie wanted to be with him, then he had certainly granted his wish. Pity he wasn't doing anything more exciting than working in records. A warm feeling stole over him as he thought of his partner, silently bearing the tedium of records for his sake. Now he came to think about it, not once that day had Bodie grumbled about being cooped up inside. He should've realised that was unusual.

At least the last couple of hours had been a bit more interesting, checking through, updating and amending the records on the puzzling McAllister case. Some hapless MP - ex-MP and Defence Minister, no less, had gone and got caught paying for the services of a prostitute.

Doyle picked up a large file next to him and opening it, stared at the photograph inside of a grey-haired man in his fifties. Douglas McAllister, Member of Parliament for West Lothian. He wondered what made a man, in such a high-profile and precarious profession, and at the pinnacle of his career, take risks like that. And right before a General Election too. Brains in his balls, he decided and shut the file.

That reminded him that Bodie had been searching for details about the prostitute involved in the case. "Did you dig anything up on Salome whatsherface?" he called to Bodie, who was still shuffling about in the other corner.

"Salome Ngora," said Bodie. "Not a sausage. Had to start up a new file."

"Where's that name from - African, innit?" Doyle asked conversationally, wanting their rapport to return. It worked.

"Tanzanian, I think," said Bodie, reappearing. "Definitely East African. Anyway, she doesn't have any form that I can find, for prostitution or anything else. Must either be new or very discreet."

Doyle relaxed at the resumption of friendly relations and smiled. "Yeah, well McAllister wouldn't call a camera in her bedroom very discreet. Poor sod's had his bum on the front page of every newspaper in the country. Not the sort of publicity a Defence Minister's lookin' for! 'S odd that."

"What is?"

"Her havin' no form. Very professional set-up. They could've…"

"They…?" Bodie queried.

"Doubt she did it on her own, from what Jax told me. Livin' in a bedsit with a young kid. Must've been her pimp that set it up, but I don't get the motive. McAllister could've been blackmailed for a fortune. So why'd they send the photos to the press and not ask for any dosh for 'em? An' then she goes an' disappears without trace."

"Maybe McAllister upset the pimp - Errol Brown, his name is. Got some form, burglary, bit of extortion, GBH, nothing to write home about. I dunno, 's not our case, so why should we worry?"

"Jax was spittin' when I saw him. Did you see his report?"

"Saw it. Read it. Filed it." Bodie grinned. "Mr. Brown's being a bit elusive."

Doyle picked up McAllister's file from the table and after returning it to its proper place, scanned the room before turning to his partner. "I reckon we've about done. You ready to go?"

"Yep. Who's buying the first round?"

"You are," replied Doyle gleefully. "I'm the one who's celebrating."

The drive to their chosen venue, which sat on the edge of Hampstead Heath, was slow despite it being the tail-end of the evening rush-hour.

"How comes you're reading a newspaper in the car?" Bodie broke the silence.

"Eh?"

"Thought you got travel sick."

Doyle shrugged. "Not when the car's not movin'," he said indicating the jam they were sitting in. "Anyway, 's not a newspaper; The Sun's a bleedin' comic. Look," he said holding the paper up in front of Bodie's face. "They're still printin' pictures of McAllister's arse - right next to a photo of his wife. 'S not nice, that."

"Why? She's seen it before." Bodie studied the picture.

"You know what I mean. Why do you buy this crap anyway?"

"Like doing the crossword."

Doyle grinned. "Right. Nothin' to do with the photos on page 3 then."

"How could you suggest such a thing?" Bodie managed a hurt look. "Me mum dragged me up to be a good Catholic."

"An' failed miserably," Doyle retorted, not taken in for a moment.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

The pub they were heading for had a history which spanned several centuries and was as popular now as it had been at the time of the first Queen Elizabeth. Half-timbered outside and in, its low-beamed ceilings had a tendency to trap the cigarette smoke being wafted about by the smartly-dressed clientele who had escaped their offices for the day.

Looking at them Doyle wondered, not for the first time in the past two weeks, how people could do a job like that, stuck inside all day. He certainly wasn't cut out for that kind of work, which was why he'd veered away from his original chosen field of art and joined the Met. It was while he was studying at art college, that Doyle had first come across this pub. Its quiet ambience and good beer had been luring him back ever since.

They ordered some food, which they ate standing at the ancient-looking mahogany bar. After an hour, the crowd began to thin out and the two men were able to grab a free table. Almost immediately, their attention was drawn to an attractive petite-looking young woman sitting alone in the corner. Both had noticed her before, but then she had been accompanied by a slightly older man, who had definitely been looking the worse for drink. Some time before, he had woven an unsteady path to the men's toilets and had not reappeared.

"I saw her first," growled Bodie.

"Didn't. I saw her when we walked in."

"So did I and I was first through the door."

"Yeah?" Doyle countered. "Well what if I say I noticed her through the window?"

"I'd say you were a lying toe-rag - there aren't any windows by the door to the carpark."

"Details …" grinned Doyle. "Back in a mo." With that, he got up and headed for the toilets.

By the time he returned, Bodie was deep in conversation with the woman. He grinned to himself - he'd rarely met a faster mover than Bodie.

"Ah, here's my partner. Ray, meet Nicole."

Partner? thought Doyle, wondering which story Bodie had given her - whatever it was, it wouldn't be the truth.

"Hi Nicole," smiled Doyle. There was no chance of her friend returning - from what he had seen, he was going to be in the toilet for some time. He slid onto the seat opposite her. Close up she looked less attractive. Her hair was chestnut-coloured and pulled back into a pony-tail. Set in a long, slim face were large brown eyes, lined with black kohl and too much mascara for Doyle's liking. Her full lips were emphasised by recently-applied shiny red lipstick.

Doyle knew he was going to have to go along with the chat-up charade because Bodie would expect him to; from the earliest days of their partnership, he and Bodie had competed for women. During the months of his recovery, his libido had all but vanished and had yet to return. With his partner's irritatingly ill-concealed worrying over his health and fitness, Doyle had no intention of giving Bodie something else to get concerned about.

"What's a nice girl like you hangin' around a pub on her own?" Doyle asked.

"I came here with someone from the small firm I'm temping in down the road - but he seems to have disappeared." She didn't seem too put out by this.

"What, an' left a gorgeous thing like you all alone? Never mind, we'll look after you, won't we, Bodie?" He favoured her with his most disarming smile, fooling even Bodie.

"That's what I already told her, Ray. Didn't I, Nicole?"

Nicole smiled at Bodie and winked. "You did." Just as Doyle felt a relief that she seemed to be favouring his partner, she turned to him and added, "I'm sure both of you could look after me very well …"

They chatted for over an hour, their conversation littered with innuendo. Showing neither man any preference, she flirted equally with both. Uncharacteristically for Bodie, who would normally be exhibiting definite signs of possessiveness by now, he didn't appear to mind that she was not showing either man more favour. Meanwhile, Doyle was feeling decidedly frustrated by it. Compared to some of the smooth chat-up lines Bodie was coming out with, his rustiness at this particular skill was obvious. Yet even that didn't seem to sway her. His one overriding wish right then was that she would show more interest in Bodie and leave him in peace.

Just as he was wondering whether to buy another round, Nicole looked at her watch and announced, "I've had enough of this place - would you two like to come back to my flat for a ...coffee?" Her invitation was clear - coffee was the last thing on her mind.

Doyle realised with a sinking feeling that she wanted a threesome. Bodie had suggested this in the past and he had always been dead set against it. His partner was competitive enough at the best of times, and the thought of taking it to the bedroom made him shudder. There was no way, knowing Bodie as he did, that it wouldn't just descend into a sexual marathon with the poor bird being the loser.

"I don't think so, love. I'm sure you don't want to make coffee for both of us."

"Oh, but I do," she smiled. "Very much."

"You're not going to turn a lady down, are you Ray?" Bodie added. "Besides, if I drive Nicole home, you'll have to fork out for a cab."

Recognising a stubborn glint in Bodie's eyes, Doyle capitulated. He could pretend to go along with it, but once they got to her place, he would kip down on her sofa, leaving a clear path for his partner. Outside the pub the setting midsummer sun made it feel earlier than it was.

Nicole's house proved to be some distance away. Driving along the edge of Wimbledon Common, they turned into her drive. Bodie pulled up next to a red Porsche soft-top parked in front of an expensive-looking property, its white stucco exterior reflecting the burnished orange that washed the sky.

"Nice place," commented Bodie.

"Daddy bought it for me - he buys me just about anything I want. Shame he's never here to see me enjoy it," Nicole pouted. "Come into my parlour…" she grinned.

A well-stocked bar stood in the corner of a plush lounge. The cream-coloured sofa and armchairs matched the cream-coloured carpet and walls. "A drink, or …" she held up a small plastic bag containing white powder, "…a snort?"

"Got any lager?" Bodie asked, not missing a beat.

"Yup. There's some in the fridge here - you help yourselves, while I sort this out." Nicole walked around the bar clutching the small bag.

"Now you don't really want any of that, do you?" Bodie asked, deftly relieving her of the package. He held it aloft, beyond her reach. Leaning down, he added in a low voice, "We'll show you such a good time, it'll put this stuff to shame."

As this conversation was taking place, Doyle wandered around the room looking at the original paintings - all modern - which adorned the walls. At Bodie's words he looked over to the two standing in the middle of the room and found Nicole grinning at his partner, considering his proposition. Doyle turned back to a water colour he'd been studying. He couldn't fault her taste in art; despite outward appearances, he reckoned she was a pretty shrewd cookie. 

The moment of truth was looming and he was wondering how he was going to get out of it without an argument from Bodie, and managing to leave Nicole's ego intact. He still had absolutely no intention of performing in front of his partner - especially as he was so out of practice. He sat sprawling in one of the overstuffed armchairs and, closing his eyes, did not attempt to disguise his tiredness. Her next question, although whispered, was clearly audible and for some reason it irritated him.

"Are you sure he's up to this?" she asked Bodie.

"Who Ray? They don't call him The Engine, you know."

"No?" she giggled. "So what do they call him?"

Bodie leant in closer and this time, Doyle was unable to hear the answer. Whatever the answer was, she squealed with delight.

"That's something I've always wanted," she said cryptically and with a determined look on her face, advanced on him. "I never thought I'd have one that big," she added.

Doyle had opened his eyes and now gave Bodie a quizzical look. Alarm bells went off when he found himself the recipient of his partner's most innocent expression, that and the mischievous glint he seemed unable to suppress.

Walking over and sitting on Doyle's lap, she undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal a pair of full, creamy breasts only just restrained by her bra, the nipples a tempting shadow behind the white lace. Nicole lifted his hand and pressed it against her left breast and with her other hand, cupped him gently. Running her thumb softly back and forth over the bulge in his trousers, she offered him a seductive smile. Miraculously, he felt an awakening response, echoed by the hardening of the nipple he was caressing.

Doyle cursed his traitorous body - he really didn't want this right now. But it had been too long and she felt too good. As his heart rate increased, so his resolve weakened. Nicole leant forward and sucked on his earlobe, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Giving his groin a small tweak she stood up and offered him her hand.

"Come on, let's see what we're all made of."

Despite his reticence, Doyle followed Nicole and Bodie upstairs. Her bedroom was huge - it had to be to house her enormous bed. Never mind CI5's finest, he thought to himself, she could get the entire England cricket squad on there and still have room to spare.

Nicole turned a dimmer switch by the door until the lights were more subdued. Pressing another button, quiet music suddenly filled the room. Then as the two CI5 men watched, she strolled towards the bed, discarding items of clothing as she went. A moment later, Bodie followed suit, leaving Doyle standing in the doorway.

As he watched, Bodie pounced on Nicole and kissed her deeply before moving down to lap at an exposed breast. Doyle's eyes moved between Bodie's tongue swirling languidly around a peaked nipple and his fingers dipping into the dark moistness between her legs. With his artist's eye he noted the contrast between their bodies: Nicole's tanned and curvaceous, Bodie's pale and muscled. The thought that he'd never seen Bodie aroused before coincided with an uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. For the first time that evening, he seriously considered the idea of joining them. It didn't have to turn into a competition with Bodie - if he pretty much ignored his partner and just got on with what he wanted to do, maybe he would actually enjoy it. Just as long as Nicole didn't expect the two men to do anything together, it would be all right; and on a bed that size, they weren't likely to get in each other's way.

His mind made up, he called out, "Oi, you two, don't start without me." By the time he had divested himself of his clothes and climbed onto the bed beside them, he was already more than half hard.

During the initial foreplay, they knelt on either side of Nicole and each concentrated on one end of her as she made appreciative noises. Having been on the receiving end of all the attention, Nicole changed tack by pulling up some pillows and resting her head. Gently tugging at Doyle's cock, she urged him forward until he was close enough for her to suck him expertly. It was his first sexual experience for months and it felt good. Too good. He became concerned that he wasn't going to last long.

Meanwhile, his partner moved to kneel between her legs, placing them over his shoulders. From this position he gently entered her and began to thrust slowly. He watched with unabashed fascination as Bodie's cock slid in and out, aware that Bodie was watching her actions on him.

Despite the audience, he came hard and quickly as he had feared, some of his cum spilling from her mouth. She continued to suck at his half-hard prick, but having become too sensitive to enjoy it, he reluctantly pulled away from her.

Almost at the same time, Bodie leant forward to kiss her. To Doyle's amazement, Bodie first lapped up the spilled semen from her chin and lips before teasing her mouth open for a deep kiss. A moment later, he was as hard as he'd ever been. He still felt too self-conscious to touch himself with Bodie there and was more than a little grateful when her hand snaked out and took him into a firm grip. Bodie stopped kissing her and started thrusting furiously. A few moments after she groaned her climax, Bodie followed. Doyle watched as his partner gently pulled out of her and rolled onto his back, panting. Then driven by a compulsion he didn't understand, he moved around between her still open legs and began lapping at her.

"Jesus Ray," he heard Bodie murmur, his voice not one of admonishment but of passion. From his tone, he was still enjoying the aftermath of a good climax. Doyle had performed cunnilingus often enough to know that the overwhelming taste that was washing over his tongue was Bodie's. He vaguely wondered if that was how he must have tasted to his partner and with that thought he suddenly knew what he wanted to do.

Coming up for air, he knelt back on his haunches. In one motion, he thrust accurately into her, sliding in easily with so much lubrication. His intention was to mingle his semen with Bodie's in a symbolic gesture of brotherhood. As Doyle began to fuck her, he watched as Bodie leant forward and began to kiss Nicole with a passion he'd never before witnessed in his partner. Fondling a breast with one hand, Bodie, with total unselfconsciousness, pumped himself hard with the other. Doyle watched and was watched. Amidst Nicole’s cries of ecstasy, the two men came hard, their eyes meeting. It was a sublime moment, the two men sharing themselves, nothing hidden, their souls laid bare in that intimate act.

Totally enervated, they all quickly fell asleep. When Doyle awoke some time later, he found Bodie lying next to him, his finger trailing along the still-livid scar on his chest, an unreadable look on his face. As soon as his partner realised he was awake, his expression changed and he smiled.

"Time to go home mate," said Bodie quietly. "You're back on full duties tomorrow and with a face like yours, you could do with plenty of beauty sleep."

Doyle was too tired to think of a suitably pithy reply and stuck his tongue out instead.

"Careful Raymond, the wind might change," grinned Bodie. A moment later Bodie was rewarded by a stinging slap on his rear end, having failed to exit the bed quickly enough to avoid Doyle's retribution.

Nicole had woken long enough to say goodbye to them, telling them to let themselves out. Being the early hours of the morning, the roads were clear and the easy drive to Doyle's flat was made in companionable silence. That they were subdued, Doyle put down to the late hour and the fact that they were tired.

Bodie pulled up outside Doyle's apartment block, amazed to find a space directly outside the door.

"Blimey, how come I never get a space this close?" Doyle wondered aloud as he swung open the door. "Thanks for the lift, mate - I'll drive meself in tomorrow in case Cowley's still set on us workin' separately."

"He wouldn't do that. Now you're back full-time, we're back to being partners."

"Don’t count on it; I've given up tryin' to second-guess what he's gonna do." Doyle's hand paused on the door handle as he wondered what to say next. Somehow, he couldn't comfortably bring himself to thank his partner for a nice night after the intimacy they'd shared. Which reminded him…. "What was it you whispered to Nicole about me?

"Not a lot. Now, is there any danger of you getting out of my car so I can go home and get some kip?"

"Come on Bodie, don't sod about," Doyle persisted.

The glint in his partner's eyes belied the seraphic smile. "It's for me to know and you to find out."

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to find out if you won't tell me?" he scowled. "An' I am not about to arrange another date with her just to satisfy my curiosity," he added before Bodie could suggest such a thing. She was definitely a one-off. Not really his type at all.

"Be nice to me, and I might tell you sometime."

"Right. Some time being after hell freezes over." Bodie could be annoyingly tight-lipped. "Night," Doyle said with finality as he slammed the car door hard enough for Bodie to know he was irritated. Quite why he was feeling this way over such a small point, he wasn't in the mood to analyse.

"See you at eight," Bodie replied, beaming. Doyle ignored him as he stalked up the path.

The following day, Doyle was already ensconced in the rest room when Bodie arrived. After a half hour listening to the successful, if somewhat embellished exploits of the teams who'd been in Brighton the previous day, they all went to a briefing with Cowley. It was several hours before the two men found themselves alone and to Doyle's surprise, Bodie chattered away, but made absolutely no mention of the events of the previous night. Doyle half expected his partner to take the opportunity to boast about his sexual prowess now that he'd been seen in action, or for Bodie to tease him about the size of his prick (Bodie, he had discovered, lived up to his boasts). But he said nothing, and if Doyle was honest with himself, he was relieved. Taking this puzzling lead from his partner, he too refrained from mentioning the encounter.


	2. Chapter 2

There was nothing of note about the white van parked in one of the maze of narrow side streets that ran around the Barbican Centre. The interior design company logo advertised on its side may not have been from one of the currently fashionable crop, but such vehicles were a common sight around the City of London's brand new luxury apartments. Inside the van, Doyle sat beside his partner, feet braced against a shelf housing an impressive array of sophisticated surveillance equipment. The flat under observation had been unoccupied since they had arrived on duty, leaving them precious little to do besides talking and reading magazines.

Outside, the weather favoured them with a uniform greyness which ensured the temperature inside the van would not take on sauna-like proportions. To the relief of both, the cover of the van allowed them the luxury of disposing of their ever-present gun-concealing jackets.

Neither Bodie nor Doyle knew much about their current assignment, having been given the job from standby, thanks to Lucas and McCabe managing to smash up their car in Birmingham during a chase the previous day. Neither had been seriously injured, and they had caught their man, but with both agents suffering bruising and sprains, Cowley had been forced to give them a day off to recover.

The man whose flat they were monitoring was a fairly prominent Member of Parliament by the name of Julian Falkener, married with a grown-up son. A member of the Tory party and very wealthy in his own right, he was suspected of passing on sensitive information to a hostile agency: motive unknown. Following a tip-off from a recent Soviet defector, MI6 was currently undergoing a highly secret internal investigation, so the Home Secretary had brought in CI5 for this assignment.

As the hours passed without incident, Doyle grew increasingly irritated at their inactivity. Bored with listening to the quiet hiss of background static, he pushed the uncomfortable headphones off one sore ear and turned to his partner.

"Bodie."

"Hmm?" The reply was distracted, Bodie not bothering to look up from the copy of Playboy which the previous team had thoughtfully left behind.

"Who was it chose your names?"

Bodie peered over the top of the magazine. "Sod off Doyle."

Doyle fondly regarded his partner, sitting to his right, balanced precariously on the rear legs of his chair, his broad back braced against the soft sound-proofed side of the van. He was well aware that if anyone else had had the temerity to ask such a question of his partner, it would have earned them a far sterner rebuke than he'd just received. It touched on the realms of Bodie's private persona, an area he always made a point of clearly delineating to all those he had close contact with. His life since joining CI5 was an open book, but all that had gone before he guarded jealously, and potential trespassers did well to heed the 'Do Not Enter' signs. As it was, the apparent rebuff was uttered with a slightly indulgent tone that was not lost on him.

"Ah c'mon Bodie. You know what they say: 'What's in a name?' an' all that."

Bodie looked up from his magazine grinning. "I never thought I'd hear you spouting Shakespeare!"

"Shakespeare? Didn't know he wrote that."

Bodie stared at him in disbelief and Doyle could tell he was wondering if that was a joke or not.

"What do you want to know for?" he asked, suspicion evident on his face.

Doyle cast him an innocent look. "Just curious, I s'pose."

"If you think," scowled Bodie, "that I'd be stupid enough to provide you with ammo so's you can take the piss out of me next time you're on the losing end of an argument, you've got another thing coming."

"'Oh ye of little faith!'" Doyle tried to look pious.

"I'm just being realistic, mate. Call me cynical, but I know you better than you think!"

"William Andrew Philip - I mean 's not your run-of-the-mill choice. Sounds sort of regal..."

"Drop it, Ray." He turned back to his magazine, indicating an end to the conversation. Doyle put on his best pretend-hurt look and noted with satisfaction that Bodie was obviously trying not to smile. That and the fact that there was no real edge to Bodie's voice prompted him to ignore the request. "Anyone'd think you didn't like your names. I think they're all right."

"Ooh, your approval means so much to me," simpered Bodie from behind the magazine. Doyle chuckled but before he could reply, he was distracted as all at once, Bodie allowed the front legs of his chair to fall to the floor of the van with a quiet thump.

"What about yours?"

"Eh?"

"Your name?" Bodie reminded him with a tone of exaggerated patience.

Doyle smiled. "Me mum. Named me after her younger brother."

"Your uncle."

For a moment, Doyle looked confused. "Yeah, I s'pose he was."

Bodie shot him an incredulous look at the idea that he had never before made that familial connection.

"Was killed in the war," explained Doyle. "Never met the poor bugger... So?"

"So what?"

Doyle only just managed not to roll his eyes in exasperation, deciding that getting blood from a stone was probably considerably easier than getting anything personal out of Bodie. Still sitting with his feet against the shelf, he rested his arms on his up-raised knees. "Your names," he prompted with the kind of patient tone parents normally reserve for their children when they're being particularly obtuse.

Doyle could see that Bodie was obviously considering giving him an answer, as he sat staring unseeing at the discarded magazine on his lap. And while Bodie took his time ruminating, he began to feel irritated by the wait. It wasn't as if he was asking Bodie to reveal any state secrets, or anything. The trouble was, it never did any good to force issues with his partner; that usually just made him close up completely, which at times could be incredibly infuriating. He was just beginning to think that Bodie wasn't going to answer, when he finally spoke, seemingly addressing the magazine that lay on his lap.

"My parents moved from Ireland right after the war. My dad didn't want to come, but he was a carpenter and there was a lot more work for chippies over here - better-paid too. Once he had a regular job and they'd settled down in an area which already had a big Irish community, Mum was glad of the move; plus, her mum was English and she had some cousins living in Manchester. During the '40s and '50s, dad was pro-IRA - 'course that was well before their terrorist campaign began..."

"Your dad supported the IRA?" Doyle interrupted, surprised. "With that in your records, how come you made it into CI5?"

Bodie's gaze moved from the magazine to his partner. "Apart from all the anti-IRA action I saw with the paras and the SAS, which would put most people off supporting a terrorist organisation - and the ones on the other side weren't any better - Cowley never actually asked me about it."

"But he must have known about it from when they vetted you," Doyle pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, but he never asked me about it. Officially, since I never mentioned it, he doesn't know about it. It's how the military mind works."

Doyle shook his head in incomprehension.

"Look," explained Bodie, "there are a lot of things go on unofficially in the forces that everyone knows about, but which aren't doing anyone any harm. Not only would morale be rock bottom if every single rule was enforced, but the whole show would probably come to a grinding halt.

"Cowley knows about my old man, but he knows I've got absolutely no sympathies in that direction. If he'd gone by the book," Bodie grinned, "CI5 wouldn't have had the benefit of my not inconsiderable services!"

Doyle couldn't conceive of a CI5 without Bodie; couldn't imagine not having the ex-soldier as a partner to watch his back. On more occasions than he cared to think about, Bodie had saved his life. It wasn't just through his quick reflexes either, but also his uncanny ability at reading a situation and predicting the next moves. Without Bodie there, he might possibly be dead by now. The thought made him shiver slightly; it wasn't something he wanted to ponder, and so he steered his partner back onto the history of his names.

"Mum's pregnancy was an accident," Bodie continued. "My dad wanted her to have a back-street abortion, but being Catholic, she wouldn't. He gave her a hard time for nine months and when I was born, she'd already secretly chosen my names. Partly it was because she didn't want me standing out with a weird Irish name, but mostly it was just to get up his nose - she even got the birth certificate done on her way back home from the hospital so that he wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"What d'your dad say when she got home?"

"He went through the roof, apparently. She never told me, but I know he used to knock her about; probably did when he found out what she'd done. It was too late though; there was nothing he could have done about it, short of changing my name by deed poll. She gave into him after that, so my brother had an Irish name; I'm the one ended up sounding like a bleeding monarch."

Doyle held his breath, afraid of breaking the rare atmosphere of openness. He was, until then, completely unaware that Bodie even had a brother. Added to that, he guessed that if Bodie's father had beaten up his wife, he'd probably hit his kids too. That was just one of the many bitter lessons he'd learned early in his police career: man's inhumanity to man - especially to those who were unable to defend themselves.

When his partner said nothing for a while, Doyle asked quietly, "What does your brother do?"

"Sean's dead," he answered with a tone of finality that Doyle recognised was designed to put him off asking further questions on that subject.

For some time, Bodie sat looking at the magazine on his lap, his mind obviously a million miles away from the busty, pouting blond on the cover and seemingly quite unaware of his partner's thoughtful gaze. Doyle was reluctant to change the subject to the safe ground they normally occupied, as Bodie was finally allowing him to see a little of what made him tick. As he watched, a shiver seemed to pass through his partner's body. "Someone walk over your grave, mate?" Doyle asked quietly.

He almost flinched at the sight of Bodie's eyes, cold as flint and distant as his private thoughts. "Yeah, something like that."

Doyle knew Bodie's gruff, tough image was only a front, a barrier against any vulnerabilities he wanted kept hidden, so the steely look was not taken particularly seriously. He was gratified too, that Bodie seemed not to mind that he, Doyle, knew where his partner's weaknesses lay and that his defences weren't entirely impenetrable. The only other person he knew of with that kind of knowledge of Bodie was Cowley - and even he had only scratched the surface.

Bodie smiled slightly, which had the immediate effect of softening his eyes. "So now you know," he said finally.

Doyle wondered whether Bodie was referring to the source of his names or the more personal revelations; either rated as an indication of this new level of trust they seemed to have reached.

Since nothing was happening with their current assignment and therefore their attention was not required, he decided to see how far Bodie would be prepared to go.

"What did your mum usually call you?"

Bodie shifted in his seat, obviously slightly uneasy at the thought that his partner intended to probe further. Doyle knew it still didn't come easily to Bodie to open up, and the token struggle he put up was not entirely unexpected.

"What is this? Twenty questions?" Bodie's voice had a harsh edge.

"Was just wonderin'," Doyle said defensively. "I was interested, that's all."

"Billy," he muttered, and then grinned as he added ruefully: "I was only 'William' when I played up."

Doyle smiled. "There was a boy called William in the year below me at school. The school bullies had a field day with him and called him 'Little Willie' … right up until the kid discovered that his fists were harder than their faces."

"Yeah, I went through all that too," Bodie admitted.

At that moment Doyle experienced a moment of lightning intuition. Bodie's C.V. to date comprised almost exclusively of violent professions - a hangover from his school days perhaps? If Bodie had been called Steve or Mark, would he have been picked on? Would he have been any different?

But from what Bodie had just told him he was almost certain that he had suffered something far more sinister than just owning an out-of-date name - something Doyle knew shaped behaviour just as assuredly as bells had Pavlov's dogs - domestic violence.

"Matter of fact," Bodie added, interrupting Doyle's thoughts, "I got called Little Willie too. But that's because they were jealous."

Doyle's face expressed his confusion.

"Robin Hood's mate was called 'Little John', right?" This in a voice as if he were explaining something very obvious to a child. "Well, he wasn't, was he?" With that, he sat back with a distinctly smug look and folded his arms across his chest.

"You trying to tell me you're hung like a horse?"

"You should know, Sunshine - you've watched me in action."

The comment completely threw Doyle, it being the first reference Bodie had made to their night with Nicole almost a month before. He felt himself flush and then grew irritated by Bodie's look of sadistic delight at his overt reaction to the unexpected remark.

Unable to think of a casual-enough comeback, it was with a sense of relief that events suddenly overtook them. A noise in his headphone alerted him to the fact that someone was entering the flat they were monitoring. His hand flying to the one headphone that covered his left ear, he moved his other hand to his mouth in a sign to Bodie to remain quiet.

"The front door's just opened," he explained, flicking a switch to begin recording.

"What the fuck's Murph doing?" muttered Bodie as he went for his R/T. "Put it on the speaker."

"...beautiful. Yes there, mmmm....wonderful. I've been thinking about kissing you all week."

Just as he reached it, the radio came to life in Bodie's hand.

"6.2 to 3.7? Target entering his flat."

"Yeah, we know. Bit late, aren't you?"

"Call of nature," Murphy muttered.

"Eh?" Bodie asked, the speaker drowning out his words.

"Said I went for a crap!" shouted Murphy in an exasperated tone.

Bodie grinned at Doyle. "Yeah, well in the time it's taken you to alert us, he's already started to check out the tonsils of the bird he's got with him."

"What? He's alone." Murphy's voice registered open surprise.

"Not anymore, he's not. Listen."

Bodie placed the R/T close to the speaker and was rewarded by a short, but loud, burst of feedback.

"Christ Bodie! Just turn the bleedin' volume up," said Doyle angrily, pulling the headphones away from his bruised eardrums.

Bodie threw an apologetic look as he did as he was told, holding the transmitter a few feet from the speaker.

"I love it when you do that. Feel how hard I am for you. Mmmm...."

"Either he's having a serious snogging session with himself, or someone's got past your surveillance," Bodie said, sounding mildly irritated.

"Dunno how, mate. Haven't seen any women go into the building for over half an hour."

"Have you any idea how much you turn me on?...Yesss, especially...when you...do that."

"Are you intending to have your wicked way with me on your doormat, Julian?"

Bodie and Doyle locked gazes as a second male voice registered.

"That answer your question Murph? Don't know whether you heard that, but he's with another bloke."

"Off to the bedroom with you Michael - and you can go first so I can admire that tight little bum of yours."

"I heard that! Saw a fella hanging around about ten minutes ago - could've been him. I'll have to catch him on his way out." Murphy chuckled as he added, "Meanwhile I'll leave you two to it, then. 6.2 out."

Cowley hadn't really expected to get anything on Falkener this way. Falkener's Barbican address was one he shared with twenty three other MPs, which meant that visitors stood a likely chance of being seen by one or more of his colleagues. The thought struck Doyle that Falkener was either very stupid or very clever.

The voices emanating from the speaker began to grow fainter as they moved away from the hidden microphone. With a flick of a switch, Doyle changed settings on the receiver, returning the voices to normal pitch as they entered the main bedroom.

"...say the nicest things. You know how much I love your arse too. Is it mine tonight? Let me show you how much I love you."

The voice was young; Doyle estimated it belonged to a man perhaps half Falkener's age.

"You're in luck - I'm not due to be in the House tomorrow. It'd be a different matter if I had an all-day sitting like that last time. You get undressed, I'm just going for a pee - unless you want to play watersports? Falkener laughed.

Doyle winced at that implication.

"I don't think so, Julian - you know it's not my style - didn't think it was yours either."

Falkener laughed again. "It's not, but I love worrying you. You should have seen the look on your face!"

Falkener's chuckle could be heard fading off in the distance.

"Well this is a turn-up for the books," said Doyle. "Whenever I've seen him on telly, he's always seemed straight as a die."

"Never can tell though," remarked Bodie.

Doyle was about to ask him what he meant when Michael's voice drifted through the speaker.

"Listen, I can't stay too late - I'm off on a trip tonight."

"Pity - I'd hoped we could have spent a nice quiet evening together.

"How long can you stay?"

"About an hour. My check-in's at eight, but I'm all packed, so all I've got to do is get into my uniform."

"Anywhere nice?"

"Abu Dhabi. Now are we going to talk for the next hour, or...ooff...mmm!"

This wasn't the first time they'd eavesdropped on two men having sex. But unlike the two previous occasions, Doyle was unaccountably embarrassed at listening to the sounds of their foreplay emanating from the speaker with Bodie sitting close by. He leant forward to switch the sounds back over to his headset.

"Nah, leave it on," suggested Bodie with a grin. "This could get quite entertaining."

To mask his alarm, Doyle seemingly casually reached over to Bodie's discarded Playboy and started flicking through it. He felt he needed the sight of curvaceous female bodies to remind him of what he normally found a turn-on, as his body traitorously reacted to the sounds of two men enjoying sex. His hard-on was quite painful sitting in the cramped position he had maintained for the past half hour, so he stretched his legs placing his feet on the floor of the van. All the while, he was careful to keep the magazine firmly on his lap. He knew he would never live it down if Bodie were to notice the state he was in, which he could hardly fail to do since his jeans were, as usual, quite tight. Somehow the photos of nude, voluptuous women failed to reassure him and the van seemed to become very stuffy as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. Quite why the sounds he was hearing should affect him so was beyond his comprehension.

A movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to Bodie, who was wriggling in his seat and pulling at the front of his trousers. Relief swept over him that his partner appeared to be in the same state. If Bodie was affected, then it must be just a natural reaction to the sounds of two people indulging in sexual activity. He pretended not to notice Bodie's condition as, deliberately nonchalantly, he turned the pages of the magazine.

Doyle paused on a page of writing, but didn't see the words. Instead, he found himself drawn, almost against his will, to the voice of Julian Falkener emanating from the speaker beside him.

"You are so good at that, Michael. You know, no woman can ever give a blow job the way another man can. Yesss...oh slow down! I don't want to come yet."

The words catapulted Doyle's mind back to the night with Nicole. From that time, something had changed between them; it was nothing he could put his finger on and upon reflection he decided that whatever it was, it was all to the good. When alone, the amount of good-humoured teasing had increased; they seemed to feel totally relaxed in each other's company and they had spent more of their spare time together than ever before. He had also noticed that Bodie was being far more demonstrative and open with him, and he welcomed it.

The present cramped conditions were making the scar on Doyle's chest ache and he longed to stand up and stretch. Much as he hated surveillance duty which he considered, alongside all the paperwork they inevitably had to complete, to be one of the worst aspects of the job, he was still glad to be there with Bodie. Doyle was very aware that he was the only one his partner completely trusted, and in their profession, that made it a tremendous responsibility. All through his convalescence, his one goal had been to be back at his partner's side, where he belonged - where he could watch his back and keep him safe. Yet, much to his disgust, the first time this had been tested - ironically while still on non-active duty - he'd nearly lost it. Hating the weakness he had displayed, he forced himself to remember what had happened.

 

After being signed fit, Cowley had insisted he undertake a fortnight of light duties, based at CI5 HQ, catching up on current cases and generally getting back into the swing of things. A week into that regime, he was still feeling washed-out by the end of each day - not that he was going to admit that to anyone. The particular day in question had involved a visit to HQ by the bodyguards of a visiting Head of State. He had been assigned to work with them, offering his expert assistance. Much to his irritation he had found that despite all his good advice, they made it clear they were still intent on doing things their own way. Not being naturally tactful or diplomatic, he had had to quell his usual reactions, the strain of it all leaving him feeling more than usually drained. So it was, that when Bodie strolled into the office having been away on an obbo for four days, he was particularly pleased to see him.

"Fancy a drink, mate?" Doyle asked casually, firmly putting the frustrating day behind him. This tactic would be a good way to get Bodie to drive him home and take him to work the following day.

Bodie threw him a look which told Doyle he wasn't fooled for a minute. "Why not?" grinned Bodie. "It's been a while since you've been blessed with the sight of my handsome face - did you miss me?"

Ignoring the teasing, Doyle headed out of the office, confident Bodie would follow.

Halfway home, an R/T message for Bodie diverted them to a nearby Post Office where an attempted armed robbery had gone wrong and the Postmaster was being held hostage. The reason for their involvement was that the gunman had been identified by a sharp-eyed local policeman as someone with known terrorist connections in the Middle East who was wanted for questioning by InterPol.

"This is all we need," moaned Bodie. "I was looking forward to that pint."

They arrived on the scene only minutes later, to find a hastily erected cordon. Firearms officers had yet to arrive - so there would be no back-up for them for a while.

"I'll cover the front, you drive round the block to the back," suggested Bodie as he climbed out. Doyle didn't have time to argue. Quickly easing his way into the driver's seat, he drove through the cordon, waving his I.D as he did so.

Having been off sick for so long, Doyle had lost his edge. Lulled into a false sense of security by the police officers surrounding the area, he didn't count on there being an armed getaway driver, trapped behind the cordon in an alley behind the building.

He got out of his car and was almost in position when gunfire rang out from inside the building. Outside, the gunman's accomplice, who had been lying low in his car, panicked and revealed himself to the CI5 agent. Turning a sawn-off shotgun on Doyle, he fired. In the split second that Doyle saw some movement out of the corner of his eye, his training and quick reflexes took over. Throwing himself to the ground and rolling, he managed to draw his gun from its holster. From his low position, he fired at his assailant, hitting him squarely in the shoulder.

Feeling a wave of nausea roll over him, he sagged in relief as the man fell unconscious to the ground. A moment later there was a blur of movement as someone flew through the rear door. From his prone position, his gun was pointing at his partner before he recognised Bodie's familiar form. Doyle sagged again, acutely aware of the adrenaline coursing through his body, its journey speeded up by his fiercely pumping heart.

"Ray!" shouted Bodie, falling to his knees beside him and dropping the firearm he'd relieved from the gunman inside with a clatter. He was pulled into a sitting position and then against a firm chest in a fierce hug. Still clutching his gun, his own arms snaked automatically around Bodie's waist.

"Are you OK?" Bodie asked gently, an odd note to his voice.

With his face buried in the folds of Bodie's shirt, he was in a state of mild shock and, not trusting his voice, he merely nodded as his body began involuntarily to shake. It was the first time he had needed his gun since his return to active duty - the first time he had been fired at in anger since Mayli.

They remained like that for a minute or more until Bodie abruptly released him and stood up. A moment later, two of London's finest appeared around the corner, clutching standard-issue Smith and Wesson revolvers. Doyle hadn't even heard their approach and took a moment to react when Bodie held out a hand to help him up. Doyle put his gun away and dusted himself down as one of the CID officers inspected Bodie's ID. Satisfied, the policeman walked over to the fallen man and checked for a pulse.

"The other's one's inside - I got him in the leg and then knocked him out, so he won't be going anywhere. And that's his," he added, pointing to the gun lying on the ground where he'd dropped it.

Bodie pulled out his R/T and called Control. To his amazement, Doyle heard Cowley agree both to sending two more officers over to collect the terrorist suspect still inside, and to a request to write their report the following morning. Until that point, he'd felt completely detached from what was going on, as if he were outside his own body watching the events unwinding. Now, he was returning to normal, and even managed a grin at Bodie as, in one of his partner's more magnanimous gestures, he left the clean-up operation to the two CID policemen. This included formally handing over custody of the two robbers until their CI5 colleagues arrived, which meant they could now go back off-duty.

Doyle's attention was brought back to the present operation by a crescendo in the noise made by the two love-making men. Steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the passionate sounds of sex unfortunately brought to him in stereo from the headset and the small speaker beside Bodie, he concentrated instead on returning to his reminiscing. With a smile he recalled how after that unexpected operation, the two of them had continued on to the pub and had got themselves totally rat-arsed.

Too drunk to drive, they had poured themselves into a taxi, which had dropped them off at their separate flats, Bodie's first. As soon as Doyle was alone in the cab, a hollow ache had developed in his chest which even his alcohol-fogged brain could tell had nothing to do with his injury. He had found himself wishing his partner had stayed over at his place - he didn't want to be alone. Recalling the moment of silent comfort Bodie had offered him that afternoon, and the unobtrusive support he had shown that evening by getting drunk with him, he had only just started to realise his partner always had the ability to make him feel safe and secure.

As depression had threatened, he had given himself a good mental shake, blaming the booze for making him maudlin. Yet even when he had lain in his bed an hour later, the ache had persisted. His last memory before he had fallen into a fitful sleep was that if Bodie had been a bird, he would have screwed her into oblivion that night. By the time that thought had flitted across his mind, he had been too far gone to notice that the ache had spread further down.

 

"Affecting you too?" asked Bodie, a sly smile on his face.

Doyle's mind was dragged back to the present. "Hmm?" he replied absentmindedly, before he caught on to what Bodie was referring to. Whilst his mind had been elsewhere, the magazine that had hitherto hidden the evidence had slid down his legs, so that most of his lap was uncovered and the hard bulge between his legs was clearly visible to his partner.

To try to cover it up now was pointless, so he decided to brazen it out with a shrug and a smile. "Gawd knows why," he said, speaking truthfully. "This isn't the first time we've listened to two blokes havin' it away and I don't remember it affectin' me before. Must be time I got meself a bird."

"When was the last time?" Bodie asked. "Nicole?"

This time, Doyle was not quite so knocked off balance by the reference, although anyone monitoring his physiological output would have noted the increase in his heart rate. "'S a matter of fact, it was." He looked at Bodie challengingly.

"I reckon the difference is," Bodie said casually, "that these two aren't just fucking - they're making love. Listen."

Doyle felt himself flushing as his objectivity became subjectivity. But it was true; on the two previous occasions they had been monitoring homosexuals, it had been two men in a short sexual encounter. In both cases it was evident that the men had only just met, while Falkener and Michael obviously had an established relationship and loved one another.

With his ability to distance himself from what he was doing now eroded, Doyle suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Turn it off, will you."

"Can't. We're supposed to be monitoring for the leaking of state secrets."

"Give me a break, Bodie." Doyle was getting angry, as much at the situation as at his partner's facetiousness.

"Where did Michael say he was off to tonight? Abu Dhabi? How do we know he's not in the purse of some Arab?"

"We don't, but the chances are, he's just an airline steward on a scheduled flight to the Middle East."

"How d'you know he's a steward?" Bodie asked.

"You've been out with air-hostesses before. 'Uniform', 'checking-in tonight' - I heard all that when I went out with Jenny - remember her from Laker Airways? Plus she reckoned most of the blokes she worked with were queer."

"I knew there had to be a good reason why the Cow would employ an ex-plod," mused Bodie with a grin. "Well-trained in detection."

Doyle chose to ignore the comment. "If he's spyin', he must be a bloody good actor."

"Wouldn't be the first time a plant got too involved," Bodie pointed out.

"OK, but if he's a professional spy, he'd make the meetings clandestine. A bloody great love-affair at Falkener's flat isn't exactly subtle, is it?"

"You're not thinking Ray. Don't forget MI6 is being investigated for leaks. Maybe this bloke Michael's boss assumes M16 would do the investigating and that they'd be tipped off if someone was onto them, so they think it's safe. But whoever the leak at MI6 is, chances are he went underground at the first whiff of an investigation."

For the first time in a while, Doyle was able to relax, since the 'normal' conversation had had a subduing affect on his libido and the uncomfortable erection he had sported only minutes ago had subsided. It helped that the two men they were monitoring had become a little less verbal, as they were now down to a low-level groaning which he was able to tune out. It was all he could do not to look to see if it was the same for Bodie.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Guilty until proven innocent?"

"In this game you are. There's only one person I completely trust, and I'm looking at him."

A warmth suffused Doyle at the sincere words yet, unused to such overt declarations from his partner, he felt himself unable to deal with the simple honesty head on. Instead, he turned the statement into a joke. "You sure you can trust me?" he grinned.

"I know you better than you think, Sunshine," Bodie grinned back, apparently willing to go along with the mood.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And what's more..."

"Michael...yesss - I'm going to come. Fuck me harder. Harder!"

"Like this and this. Is that hard enough for you?"

"Oh-oh-oh...GOD! I'm coming...uhnnn."

"I can't hang on Julian, you're so hot and tight and wonderful...I can't....oh...oh...aahh."

Doyle was stunned and annoyed that his hard-on had returned with a vengeance. This time he didn't bother to try to hide it since it was so obvious Bodie was in the same condition. "Just how deep are those pockets?" he enquired sweetly.

Bodie chuckled. "Deep enough!"

"Confucius says 'Man who keep hand in pocket feel cocky all day'."

"Confucius was a wise man," Bodie dead-panned. He was about to continue when Michael's sex-sated voice drifted over the speaker. This was the time the Mata Haris of this world had discovered that secrets were easiest to come by. Both men paid close attention.

"Oh Julian, I love you."

"I love you too. That was the best."

"Mmmm. I wish I didn't have to go. I could phone in sick - they can get someone off standby at short notice."

"I'd say yes if I thought I could spend any time with you. But I'd already planned on going back to my constituency tomorrow and won't be back in London for a couple of days."

"You'll be with her."

"Michael, we've been through this. Don't spoil what's been a lovely afternoon. You know there's been nothing between us for years."

"I'm sorry. I just hate living like this. At least now I'm a neighbour I don't have to go far to see you and it doesn't arouse any suspicions when I'm seen stopping by your flat."

"Mmmm. Come here and cuddle me 'til you have to go."

After a moment's silence, Doyle tried for a neutral topic. "Well, at least we know how Murph missed him. Shouldn't be too difficult to find out his identity."

"Yeah, well records can wait until tomorrow. How long before we're relieved?"

"Should be in a couple of hours, assuming nothing catastrophic's happened while the dynamic duo have been holed up in the buggy-boo."

Bodie reached for the R/T to reassure Murph that he wasn't losing it and to tell him to look in the carpark for a man in an airline uniform with a suitcase. He also warned the solo operative with some glee that Falkener was also due to leave shortly, and that it might be a long day for Murph.

That done, the two men lapsed into silence.

Doyle had thought about men fucking each other before - even, in a nebulous way, he'd imagined participating in it, although always from a dominant position. He assumed he'd never got around to it because he'd never found a man he'd thought attractive enough to fuck.

Now, for the first time, he found himself wondering what two men kissing looked like - it was a concept he'd never really considered before. Did they kiss the same way a man and woman do, or would it be harder - more masculine. Certainly Falkener and Michael had sounded at times as though they were being very gentle with one another. He supposed queer men didn't worry too much about being macho, so softness wouldn't necessarily be seen as weakness. He had once read that most men were capable of bisexuality, and certainly the number of 'encounters' that went on in prisons seemed to support it.

He wondered if he could ever love another man, but found the notion difficult to grasp. Try starting with the basics first: could he kiss a man? Still impossible to imagine. What he needed was a specific focus. OK, his closest friend was Bodie; could he kiss him? Hmm. Possibly...no, probably. That thought surprised him. Well, he'd seen him kiss a few women, both affectionately and passionately; it wouldn't take a great leap of imagination to picture being on the receiving end. Thinking of Bodie in a sexual way was novel and, he realised, rather compelling.

With Bodie having alluded to the night they'd spent with Nicole twice in the past hour, Doyle allowed a memory to skitter along the edge of his conscious thought like a small wave teasing the shore before retreating; the image was of Bodie lapping up his spilled semen before fucking the girl's mouth with his tongue, the way he himself had done just before with his cock. He tried not to allow the memory to coalesce into a full-blown image. Looking guiltily across at Bodie, he too seemed deep in thought, a concentrated expression on his face and his lips almost pouting. What would it feel like to have Bodie's lips on his, his tongue searching his mouth? Christ! What was he thinking? Bodie'd have his guts for garters if he knew what was going through his mind right now. He forced his mind away from those thoughts to wonder what his partner was thinking about.

Listening to two men making love had physically affected Bodie and the fact didn't seem to bother him. If he didn't know his partner better, he'd have thought he was almost flaunting the fact, since he hadn't even tried to cover it up as he himself had. Was Bodie, in his ever-so-subtle way, trying to tell him something? The thought made Doyle almost laugh out loud - you couldn't get any straighter than Bodie. There was absolutely no doubt in this mind that his partner liked women - his turnover of girlfriends was legendary in CI5. He always was a randy sod, he thought affectionately, and by the looks of him, obviously hadn't seen any action for a while either. And before he veered back off onto the memory of that night again, he consciously tried to think of something else.

Doyle remained absorbed by his thoughts until Michael's voice announced reluctantly that it was time for him to leave. The parting of the two lovers was muted, with promises that they would meet in five days when Michael returned. Neither of the eavesdroppers needed a great deal of imagination to recognise that the long silence in the hallway was an indulgent farewell kiss. With the direction his thoughts had taken earlier, Doyle's vivid imagination now easily supplied him with an image of he and his partner in a similar embrace. That the thought was no longer shocking should have surprised him; it didn't.

Having showered, Falkener phoned his wife to tell her he would be home late that night and left ten minutes later.

Bodie first called Murphy to advise him, the operative confirming that he had managed to get shots of Michael before he had driven off; next he radioed HQ, where Cowley ordered them to remain there for a further hour in case Falkener returned unexpectedly. Fortunately, their boss was unable to see Doyle scowling at this unwanted extra surveillance time.

Doyle picked up a discarded copy of The Independent - a new newspaper that he now favoured, whose quality of writing gave the Telegraph, Times and Guardian a run for its money. Scanning the index he sighed. Having already read the interesting bits, he reluctantly turned to the pages where information his boss would expect him to be up-to-date on would be found.

The political pages were still full of the latest scandal to rock the government. Following on the heels of McAllister's disgrace came one involving Rupert Taylor-Smith, Minister for Transport. He'd recently been accused by the opposition of lining his own pockets by giving the go-ahead for road construction deals which favoured the company in which he had failed to declare, as a Member of Parliament, that he was a non-executive director. The previous week, a cross-party inquiry had found him guilty and he'd resigned. Having only just lost his Defence Minister, the Prime Minister had been forced to reshuffle his Cabinet.

Doyle scanned the columns and realised that there was nothing new being said and discarded the paper with a sigh. He was bored and sat fiddling with the headphones he'd taken off earlier. Bodie seemed to be absorbed in one of the magazines. Probably readin' on how to improve his love-life, he thought with an inner smile. He found himself envious of Bodie's military background, for having provided his partner with more than sufficient training to deal with inactivity. He sighed again.

"Bodie."

"Yeah?"

"You ever done anything like that?"

Doyle watched Bodie's face closely and saw he was about to say something, then changed his mind.

"Like what?" Bodie asked neutrally.

"You know, doin' it with another bloke?"

"You asking me if I'm bent?"

"'Course not," snorted Doyle, unable to imagine anyone less bent than his partner.

"So what do you mean, then?"

"You know, messin' about. I mean, it's a well-known fact that boarding schools are famous for producin' queers."

"Is it?" Bodie's voice held a definite defensive edge to it.

"It stands to reason, mate; you've got a few hundred boys living together. One day, they wake up to find their bodies rampant with hormones and their cocks 've suddenly got more interestin' uses than just pissin'."

A broad smile broke out on Bodie's face. "An' if you don't wank at least three times a day, you just know your balls will explode!"

"Three? Is that all?"

Bodie's lips curled up into an almost leer. "You dirty little bugger - what was your average?"

"First time I tossed off and somethin' besides air came out of my dick, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. After that, it was at least five times a day for the first six months. Think I slowed down a bit after that."

"Always on your own?"

This was the second time that day that Bodie had turned a question back on him. Perhaps he was only willing to part with information on a reciprocal basis: 'you tell me your secret and if it's good enough, I might tell you mine'. It had worked for Doyle before, perhaps it would again.

"Mostly," he hedged, a little embarrassed at what his partner might think of his admission.

"Mostly?"

Doyle resisted the urge to squirm in his chair under the intense blue gaze. "Yeah, well you know, sometimes me and me mates at school played games. All stood in a row in the bogs to see who could come the highest up the wall, an' all that."

"Ever win?" Bodie grinned.

"Nah. Wasn't tall enough. Mind you, I was never the lowest either. I was pretty average - never came first, never came last."

"Never came last?" Bodie mused. His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment before he asked, "Ever play 'Take the Biscuit'?"

"Dunno. What's it involve?"

"It used to be five or six of you stood in a circle around a school desk which had a biscuit on it..."

Doyle grimaced. "Not sure I want to know!"

"And you all had to wank as fast as you could," continued Bodie, ignoring his partner's interruption. "The objective was for everyone to come over the biscuit and the last one had to eat it."

"Yeuch! That's bloody disgustin', that is."

Bodie beamed at him. "Boys will be boys."

Doyle had to ask. "Ever come last?"

"Nope. Was usually first." From the fatuous look on his face, this was obviously a matter of pride.

"Pity the poor sod who had to eat it," commented Doyle.

"Don't. It was nearly always Nutkins and he turned out to be bent as a nine bob note. Probably loved it - came last on purpose."

They fell silent for a moment and then Bodie asked unexpectedly, "What about when you were at art school. Must have been a lot of poofters there."

"There were a few," Doyle conceded. He looked defiantly at his partner. "One of 'em was my best mate."

"How long did it take you to work out he was queer?"

"Knew from the start. Wasn't obvious or anythin' - I mean, he never camped it up or minced about. He told me soon after we became mates."

Bodie's eyebrow quirked as he probed further. "He ever come on to you?"

Doyle had no idea why he was about to admit something he had kept totally secret for so long. Perhaps it was because Bodie was, for the first time, being so open with him. Picking imaginary lint off his jeans, he admitted quietly, "Nah, I came onto him."

"You did?" Bodie's surprise was plainly obvious. "What'd he do?"

"Told me I wasn't the first straight bloke who was curious."

"Did you kiss?"

Doyle was bemused rather than offended by Bodie's prurient interest. "No, and after that one time, we never did anythin' like that again." He grinned at the memory. "Falkener was right about blokes givin' good blow jobs."

When Bodie remained silent after this revelation, Doyle mentally kicked himself. Why did he have to go and tell him all that? He guessed he was going to bear the brunt of some serious piss-taking on Bodie's part.

"Yeah, I know," Bodie finally answered.

Doyle did a double take, his mouth momentarily dropping open. "You're not tellin' me you're bent?"

"What do you think? Are you?"

"No," replied Doyle emphatically. Realising it to be an ambiguous answer, he added more quietly, "...to both questions."

Doyle endured his partner's gaze for several moments as he seemed to be weighing something up in his mind. Eventually, Bodie began to talk.

"You know what it's like when someone's been shooting at your arse and you've only got through by the skin of your teeth. You get home and you know there's only one thing's going to get you to relax."

"Sex."

"'S right. It was the same when I was in Africa, only there was rarely a handy woman around; just a load of blokes in the same state you were in."

Doyle's eyes widened and he looked as though he was about to say something, but then seemed to have second thoughts. Instead, he quietly urged, "Go on."

"It was mainly handjobs, sometimes blowjobs, but some of them were willing to kiss and fuck."

"You?" There was nothing in Doyle's voice that sounded disgusted or judgmental. Bodie met his gaze and his gratitude at Doyle's complete neutrality shone out.

"I fucked a couple of blokes, but I never let anyone do me. An' I never kissed 'em either."

"What's wrong with kissin'?" Doyle wondered aloud. Fucking was all right but kissing wasn't. Bodie's code of homosexual practices seemed a strange one.

"Kissing's for lovers," replied Bodie simply.

That actually made a strange kind of sense to Doyle. "Wondered why you asked me that before. Would it have mattered if I'd let Tom kiss me?"

"Dunno," he shrugged.

Doyle sensed Bodie wasn't being entirely honest but let it go. Instead he asked, "You haven't done anythin' like that since you got back from Africa?"

"No. Mind you," Bodie grinned, "when I was in the SAS and stuck on my own half-way up a Welsh mountain for two weeks, some of the sheep started to look distinctly attractive!"

They both laughed, releasing the tension that had been building for some time.

"Don't tell me," chuckled Doyle, "you forgot to pack your wellies!"

Bodie laughed harder and in-between wheezes managed to choke out: "Got it in one!"

"I've heard velcro trousers are great for gettin' 'em to stick to you - stops 'em from runnin' away!" Doyle added, sniggering.

"Nah, there's a more traditional method, tried and trusted, it is."

Doyle tried to keep a straight face and failed. "What's that then?"

Bodie leant forward, his face serious as if revealing the greatest secret known to man. "If you get 'em to the edge of a cliff…" he confided, "…they push back harder!"

The two of them hooted with laughter, Doyle using the top of his arm to wipe his eyes which were overflowing. When the laughter finally died down, they fell into a contemplative silence. He needed to mull over what Bodie had revealed. He was finding it impossible to imagine his partner with another man. But that was because he had preconceptions of him, which were obviously built on an unsound base.

Their musings were brought to an abrupt end by the R/T signalling them.

"3.7."

"Alpha One. I've put a tail on our target. Bring the van back, drop in all the tapes to the lab, make out your report and then you're off duty. Report at 0930 tomorrow for a briefing."

"Thank you sir," muttered Bodie.

"Is there something you want to say, 3.7?"

Doyle glared at his partner.

"No sir, we'll see you at half nine sharp."

"Aye, see that you do. Alpha One out."

"Bloody hell, Bodie. Do you like to provoke him deliberately or is it somethin' you do without thinkin'?"

"Just because he puts in twenty hours a day doesn't mean we have to. We'll be lucky if we get off before midnight by the time we finished up at HQ. Was hoping to catch the football match tonight."

"What match?" Doyle asked, although not particularly interested in the answer.

"It's a friendly between England and Brazil live from Sao Paulo. Kick-off's at ten."

"Yeah, well the longer we sit here arguin', the later it's gettin'."

Bodie pouted. "You started it."

"I'll start on you if you don't bleedin' shut up and get a move on."

"Promises, promises!" grinned Bodie.

Not knowing how to take that comment in the light of their conversation, Doyle unlocked the door and unceremoniously shoved his partner out.

"You're so rough!" camped Bodie.

"Pack it in Bodie," scowled Doyle. This particular example of his partner's sense of humour was unnerving him. Changing the subject brusquely he added, "You can drive, I'm knackered."

Bodie obviously recognised his discomfort. "You're all heart. Would sir like me to write out the report as well?"

"Good idea. You can do it while I drop off the tapes."

"Thanks mate."

"Don't mention it." The smile in the voice was clearly audible.


	3. Chapter 3

"You going to invite me up or do I have to ask?"

The two men were sitting in Bodie's car outside Doyle's flat, having finished considerably earlier than Bodie's pessimistic prediction.

"Thought you wanted to watch the match."

Bodie smiled. "You've got a telly, haven't you? And I know you've got some beer, 'cos I saw it in your fridge this morning."

Doyle was normally so comfortable with Bodie, he was hardly aware of his presence most of the time. Yet, perhaps because of the events that day or, more likely, the unusual thoughts about Bodie he'd been having, he was suddenly very conscious of his partner's proximity, and it unnerved him.

"What were you doin' nosin' about me fridge?" asked Doyle tersely.

"You got a short memory mate. When I got here this morning, you were doing a good impression of sleeping beauty 'til I brought you tea in bed. Saw the beer when I went for the milk. I also noticed you've got eggs and I spotted some beef burgers in the freezer," he added.

About to open the door to his flat, Doyle paused for a moment and looked back at him. "Don't try an' tell me you were lookin' in the freezer for tea bags."

Bodie managed to look innocent. "No, was just making sure you weren't about to starve."

"Very thoughtful," muttered Doyle as he entered and switched on the hall light. "Tell you what, Bodie mate..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm feelin' so generous, while I take a shower, I'll let you cook 'em for a change!"

"Very big of you. How would you like your eggs?"

"Soft and runny."

Doyle left Bodie to it, knowing that his partner knew his kitchen almost better than the one at his own flat. It wasn't surprising really - Bodie had pretty much done all the work of moving him in to the place after he'd been discharged from hospital - even Cowley wasn't so insensitive as to make him return to the flat he'd almost died in. After that, his partner had spent nearly all his spare time over the six months of his convalescence helping him prepare for his return to full duties.

Doyle reappeared, just as Bodie was dishing up, noting that the table had been set along with a can each of ice-cold lager. He stood leaning in the doorway wearing only a white teeshirt and faded jeans, his feet bare, his hair damp, and an affectionate smile on his face. Bodie gave him a strange look.

"What?" Doyle asked quietly.

Bodie's face closed off. "Nothing.

For some reason, Bodie's reaction irritated Doyle. Stalking over to the cooker, he glanced into the frying pan and then glared at his partner. "Bloody 'ell Bodie! Said I wanted me eggs runny - these are rock hard."

"Nothing to dip your soldiers into?" Bodie enquired sweetly, not the least fazed by his friend's withering look. With a shrug he added, "Never claimed to be a Cordon Bleu chef, did I?"

"Bloody right you're not," Doyle agreed irritably, prodding unenthusiastically at two slightly charred lumps of meat. "See these knobs here?" he asked sarcastically, pointing at his cooker. "They're heat controls; you don't have to cook everythin' on full like you do on some army camp fire."

Bodie quietly dished out the food, and Doyle wasn't sure whether he was annoyed or relieved that his partner refused to be provoked. Quite why he should be behaving like that he didn't have time to analyse.

Taking Bodie's lead, he cut four doorsteps of bread, placing most of the contents of his plate between them. He then smothered them in liberal quantities of brown sauce in the hope that it would disguise the taste of the burnt offerings.

He was still only halfway through his meal when Bodie washed his last mouthful down with a swig of beer and informed him that he was off for a shower.

Doyle, meanwhile, was unable to produce a suitably pithy comment to the announcement, discovering as he was, the literal meaning of biting off more than he could chew. By the time he was able to talk coherently, he found himself addressing an empty room as he muttered, "Make yourself at home, why don't you."

After washing up, Doyle prowled around restlessly for a while until he heard Bodie leave the bathroom. Because of the frequency with which they stayed over at the other's flats, each routinely kept a few changes of clothing with his partner. Bodie's cache was stowed in the bottom drawer of his chest. Walking up to the door, he paused as he saw Bodie, naked, squatting down to rifle through his drawer. He knew Bodie knew he was there - could see his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Yet he remained there, immobile, unwilling just yet, to move.

Bodie continued to rummage, dropping to his knees and swaying his hips slightly. At any other time, he would have laughed outright at his partner's outrageously provocative behaviour. But he wasn't laughing now.

Bodie stood up, his back still to him and then eschewing underpants, bent over and slowly pulled on a pair of grey cords which were, unusually, as tight on Bodie as most of his were on him.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Doyle returned to the living room, his irascibility having remained, despite his short break from Bodie. Added to this, it now began to turn inward as he started to feel annoyed at himself for his atypical behaviour. He knew why he had stood there and watched his partner. His earlier thoughts about Bodie as a prospective sexual partner were still in the forefront of his mind.

He had been looking at Bodie's well-built body and for the first time, saw it differently. He was uncomfortably aware that his scrutiny had been a little less than impersonal; after all, he had not lost his artist's eye and could easily appreciate the beauty of the muscled, well-proportioned body.

He snorted, recalling how Bodie had wiggled his bum. Trouble is, he thought to himself, the poor bugger probably had no idea what affect his teasing was having on him. His eyes had been drawn to the dark crevice which had stood out in such contrast with the almost-white buttocks and for the first time, he had allowed himself to imagine from the sounds he had heard that afternoon, how Michael had taken Falkener. It'd probably been from behind, he decided, in which case, the view would have been similar to the one he'd just had.

Tom, his friend from college, had called it curiosity: straight blokes who suddenly found themselves interested in trying sex with another man. He had distinguished them from the blokes who liked to think they were 'straight' but who, as he had once put it, 'were always willing to help out when the queers were busy'. Doyle shook his head, deciding he was definitely of the former category.

He and his partner had spent the afternoon listening to two men fucking - no, making love, he amended - and then they had talked about their own, admittedly limited, experience with other blokes. That and the fact he hadn't had sex for some time would explain why he was in the state he was in now.

He wondered what Bodie must have thought of him standing there silently. In their time together, they had grown comfortable enough with each other's nudity that normally he would have either engaged Bodie in conversation whilst he dressed or left him to it. He wondered whether his actions had been a bit obvious. Thank goodness Bodie couldn't read his mind.

He shook his head. Gawd, he thought ruefully. Must be bleedin' desperate if even Bodie's beginnin' to look good. He was still grinning at this thought when his partner walked in.

"What're you smiling about?"

"Eh?" Not the most intelligent thing he had ever said, but the question had thrown him - he wasn't about to admit the truth to his partner. "Nothin'," he muttered. Feeling guilty and confused at his wayward thoughts and inexplicably unnerved by Bodie's presence, he watched with growing irritation as Bodie strolled over and turned on the television.

"Match starts in five minutes. I'll just go and get some supplies."

"Oi!" Doyle shouted to a retreating back. "Who said you could hijack me telly?"

Bodie's voice drifted down the hall. "You did, when you invited me up."

"I didn't invite you. And I don't wanna watch football."

Bodie reappeared, his arms full. "This isn't just any football, Doyle. This is England and Brazil - where's your patriotism?"

As Bodie lay two four-packs of beer on the coffee table, Doyle went to find something to read. Returning, he was irritated to find his partner had increased the volume.

"Christ Bodie! You gone deaf, or something?"

"More atmosphere - feel like you're there. Want a lager?" he smiled.

"Yeah all right." His voice was resigned. A moment later, they were settled at each end of the two-seater sofa, neither going for the nearby armchair.

Despite his protestations, Doyle ended up watching most of the first half as he, like most of the soccer-supporting world, was mesmerised by the incredible abilities of Brazil's premier player, Pele.

When the first-half whistle finally blew Bodie, who had been sitting on the edge of the sofa while England had managed a rare break through the Brazilian defence, sat back with a groan and opened his fourth can of lager.

"They nearly bleedin' had it then. Another few seconds..."

"Believe that an' you'll believe anythin'," Doyle interrupted sardonically as he stood up. "Pele's nearly a pensioner and 'e can still run rings around the England defenders." He paused in the doorway. "What I wanna know is: why do foreign supporters always seem to take bloody trumpets and bass drums with 'em to matches. Must drive the people round 'em barmy." He didn't wait for an answer.

In the toilet, he had just started to relieve himself when Bodie walked in and joined him at the bowl.

Doyle was surprised but comfortable enough with Bodie that it didn't put him off. "Thought you couldn't go in public - that's why you always go in the stalls, you said."

"Well, you're hardly public, are you?"

Doyle finished up and went to wash his hands. "Anyway," continued Bodie, "that's just a lie I put around." As he walked over to the basin and picked up a bar of blue marbled soap he eyed it for a moment before grinning at Doyle and adding, "Real reason is I don't want to make other blokes feel inadequate."

"With that!" Doyle laughed, eyeing the front of his cords. "Dream on, mate!"

Scooping up a large handful of water, Bodie succeeded in drenching his partner's teeshirt.

"Bleedin' hell Bodie," he protested. "What you go an' do that for?"

"Serves you right for saying hurtful things about me manhood," he pouted.

Doyle rolled his eyes and headed for the bedroom. Stripping off his teeshirt, he caught sight of his reflection in the wardrobe mirror and his mind immediately conjured up an image of a naked Bodie. He looked at himself and made a comparison. Unlike his partner, he was thin and scrawny; where Bodie's broad chest was bare with well-defined pectorals, his chest was hidden under a layer of unattractive, tangled hair. The one exception was the area immediately around the still-livid scar that stood testament to the life-saving operation he had undergone seven months earlier. He guessed the hair there would never return.

His mind was so far away, he didn't realise his partner was standing right behind him until he caught a whiff of his own aftershave on Bodie (noting almost absentmindedly that it smelled better on his partner than it did on him). A moment later, he felt Bodie's breath on the back of his neck as he looked at his reflection over his left shoulder.

"Does it still hurt?" Bodie asked quietly.

"Aches a bit occasionally, 'specially when I stretch suddenly. Itches like hell when it's hot."

They fell into silence which seemed to Doyle to become awkward somehow. There was a tension about them both, the cause of which he was unable to identify. Time to switch to more light-hearted topics.

"Ever play that party game where you stand behind someone an' as they hold their arms behind their back, you stick yours around 'em?"

"And they've got to tell a story while you do the actions with your hands?"

"Yeah, that's the one," confirmed Doyle as he clasped his hands behind him.

Bodie had to take only a small step forward for Doyle to feel his partner's chest pressed against his bare back. Threading his arms through, Doyle caught Bodie's reflection as a secret smile spread across his face. Before Doyle had time to wonder its significance, Bodie had pushed his lower half against him.

With growing concern he caught sight of a sly expression on Bodie's face and in the next instant, he found himself cupping his partner's cord-clad groin. Doyle automatically tried to pull away but since his struggle was only half-hearted, the two arms about him easily held him firm. His heart rate immediately started to increase and then doubled as he felt Bodie, unfettered by underpants, harden in his hands. His own body responded in a like manner and he had to stifle a groan. Wanting to teach his randy partner a lesson, he desperately tried to think of a story line for the 'game'. A moment later, he found the inspiration he needed. It'd be interesting to see at what point Bodie would chicken out.

"It was a hot 'n' sultry night..."

"Sultry?" Bodie grinned, an eyebrow quirking. "How can a night be sultry?"

"Humid, then. You gonna keep interruptin'? 'Cos if you are, I'm stoppin' now."

Bodie somehow managed to look meek, capitulating way too easily to Doyle's mind.

Soon see how far he'll go! Doyle thought wickedly, incredibly aware of the well-proportioned hardness his hands were cupping. This'll teach the dirty little sod.

"It was a hot 'n' humid night. The man stood facing the mirror and mopped a sheen of sweat from his brow..."

Bodie mimicked the actions, rather theatrically, Doyle thought. Nevertheless, he continued as Bodie grinned at him over his shoulder. "He stood in his bedroom lookin' sad 'n' forlorn..."

A snort from behind him made him pause, but Bodie already had an apologetic look on his face.

"...An' as he ran the fingers of one hand lightly through his hair...oi, I said lightly...'s better...he rubbed his chin with the other, wondering what he was going to do for the night now that his lover couldn't visit, which he had found out a few minutes before when they'd spoken on the phone...Bodie, the phone." Bodie put his fist up beside his right ear, which he leant into.

"He rubbed at his right shoulder to ease the tension...Bleedin' hell, you trying to strangle me?"

"'S hard to reach your shoulder from this angle," Bodie pointed out.

"Puttin' his hands on his hips," Doyle continued, unpurturbed, "he studied his reflection in the mirror for a moment, then lightly brushed his right hand over his stomach."

In the mirror, Doyle saw Bodie smile as he complied, his partner's fingers lightly grazing the line of hair that disappeared below the waist of his jeans. The action caused him to shiver and pause in his monologue.

"Slidin' the palm of his hand up," he continued after a moment, "he ran his fingers through his chest hair, rubbing gently over his left nipple in the process..."

As Bodie followed the action through, he gasped at the sensation, an arrow of sexual heat flying swiftly to his groin. He was unaware of the husky note in his voice as he carried on.

"Movin' his other hand up, he used the palm to caress the other nipple, both hands now circlin' round 'n' round 'til the nipples stood to a peak."

Unable to meet Bodie's eyes in the mirror, he chose instead to watch his hands as they created the most wonderful sensations. Further down, his cock hardened even more in approval. Without warning, Bodie's forehead dropped onto his left shoulder, his slightly uneven breathing tickling his neck.

Was he doing this to him? Doyle wondered. Or was he just so randy that night that he'd turn onto anything with a pulse.

Doyle was still determined to continue, just for the pleasure of watching Bodie balk at having to do what the story demanded. It didn't occur to him that his plan had a major flaw.

"Slowly, very slowly, while his left hand continued playin' with his nipple, his right hand moved down to undo the button of his jeans." Doyle obligingly sucked his stomach in to ease Bodie's way - it wasn't easy undoing tight jeans one-handed, and his were stretched even more taut by his engorged prick.

He smiled to himself, waiting for the moment when Bodie would cry halt.

"Next he pulled the zip down..."

He was surprised Bodie was still playing the game. It occurred to him that maybe his friend was waiting for him to stop. Well, he'll be waitin' a while...

"Finding the band to his pants, he eased his hand inside and gently took hold..."

He was unable to finish as Bodie complied. In the palm of his hand, he felt Bodie's prick harden further and without conscious thought, curved his palm to grip the outline of his partner's hot, hard cock. Closing his eyes, he fought the distractions to go on.

"Runnin' his hand from base to tip..." The hand willingly complied and he felt Bodie push rhythmically into his own grip at the same pace.

"…he quickly brought himself to..."

He was unable to continue as Bodie pushed hard against him and in his grip came a familiar rhythmic pulsing, and then the spread of a warm wet patch. The eroticism of Bodie's release was enough to push him over the edge. With a lush groan he came, sending four spurts of semen arcing through the air to land on the carpet in front of him. Without thought, he dropped his head back to rest on Bodie's right shoulder, as his breathing gradually came under control. His orgasm had been so intense that for the moment, his mind was completely blank.

He was brought back to harsh reality by a throaty chuckle behind him.

"Can I let go now?" Bodie enquired sweetly.

Embarrassment swept through him. "Yeah," he muttered. Cold air replaced the hot hand along his still half-hard length. Almost savagely, he thrust himself into his pants and pulled the zip up, before turning on his partner. What he had been about to say died on his lips at the strange look on Bodie's face. He had expected him to be leering or even laughing at him; what he saw was uncertainty.

"What are we doin', Bodie?" he asked finally.

Bodie's face took on a neutral expression. "Just mucking about mate," he replied as he gently tugged at a hangnail, looking for all the world as if what had just passed between them was an everyday occurrence. But there was a strange note in his voice which stopped Doyle lashing out in embarrassed anger.

"Look Ray, we were both feeling randy and we did something about it. Don't go analysing it to death."

Doyle remained silent and very still, watching Bodie warily, as if he were a wild animal not to be trusted.

Bodie met his eyes with a defiant look, his expression hardening. "Fer crying out loud, Doyle, it's no big deal. I'm not complaining, are you?"

The words seemed to break through to Doyle. Yeah, he's right, he thought to himself. It isn't a big deal. Was only a quick wank - been needin' it all day.

He walked over and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. "Dunno what's wrong with me, mate. Must be listenin' to Falkener's carryin's-on that's put ideas into me head. Been havin' some strange thoughts today."

Bodie walked over and squatted in front of Doyle. "What sort of thoughts?" he asked quietly, his voice neutral.

"You'll knock me block off if I tell you!" he predicted.

"Tell me. Promise I won't lay a finger on you."

Doyle took note of the open expression and not giving himself time to think about his motives he took a deep breath. "Well, at one point I was actually wonderin' what it'd be like to kiss you."

A pause, hardly longer than a heartbeat, and in it lay their whole future. "Why don't you find out." The timbre of Bodie's voice had dropped so low, it was almost a whisper.

Fight or flight. Doyle had had these same sensations more times than he cared to remember, but it had always been in the face of danger. What possible danger could his partner be to him? And then he recalled Bodie's words: Kissing's for lovers.

He watched as Bodie closed his eyes. An analytical part of his brain was cataloguing the physiological effects this encounter was having on his system: increased heart rate and respiration, dry mouth, sweaty palms, a flutter in his stomach and a throb in his groin.

In that instant, he made the decision to go through with it. Holding his breath he leant forward and as he did so, Bodie's lips curved up into a smile.

Contact, when it came, was not what his partner would have been expecting as his fist connected with Bodie jaw, sending him sprawling backwards. Before Bodie could have time to get over the shock and get the upper hand, a bundle of fury leapt upon him, pummelling in an uncoordinated frenzy that belied Doyle's extensive training. His rage was white hot, searing every part of him - how dare Bodie set him up and try to make a prize fool out of him. And the thought that he'd nearly been taken in…

"For fuck's sake, Doyle," Bodie shouted, to no avail. His initial defence turned into offence as he began to fight back. The attack caught Doyle off-guard which made him pull back, lessening the barrage of blows.

Too late, he realised it was a mistake as Bodie maximised on the differential between their size and weight by managing to roll them so that he was on top. Despite his best efforts, Doyle was unable to get either knee anywhere near his groin.

Another minute passed and Bodie had managed to pin both his arms above his head. Blinded by tears of anger, he lay there panting helplessly, uncaring what Bodie did next. His partner pulled back and stared down at him and then unexpectedly loosened his hold as an odd look crossed his face.

Pity? Doyle wondered. The very thought brought his anger back and he took full and immediate advantage of Bodie's retreat. But emotionally drained, his attack was at best half-hearted, and Bodie once more began to gain the upper hand in what had evolved into a wrestling match. Bodie rolled on top of him and the close proximity of his partner's hot, hard body began to arouse him. Confused and beyond caring, he surged against Bodie and found an answering hardness between his legs. He pushed upwards again, trying to increase the contact in a bid to assuage the aching in his groin. This time, Bodie pushed back, clinging on and attempting to co-ordinate their movements.

Doyle felt Bodie's head lean against the juncture of his shoulder and neck, face buried in his curly, still slightly-damp hair. With shocked excitement he realised Bodie was beginning to press a series of nips and nuzzling kisses towards his ear, pausing to suck gently at the lobe. He stilled his body, holding his breath. Bodie trailed kisses over cheekbone to temple; along his brows, smoothing a frown away in his wake; down to the closed eyelids, still wet with the remains of his salty tears. As he lay quiescent, Bodie tenderly mapped his face with lips and tongue, seemingly saving his mouth until last.

Doyle kept his eyes closed, fearing that opening them would break the magic spell Bodie was weaving. Bodie's lips met his briefly in the lightest of touches. A sigh that could have come from either of them, and the lips pressed again, this time nuzzling gently. He felt a tongue creep out to trace along the cupid bow of his upper lip, curving back as Bodie sucked his lower lip into his mouth. With a thrill that shot to his groin, he encountered Bodie's tongue and met it in a touch so tentative, it seemed to embody all his doubts and insecurities. Then, a decision silently reached, it was with a sense of almost overwhelming relief that his arms folded around Bodie's shoulders.

The kiss deepened and it seemed to him that Bodie was seeking to chart the whole of his mouth, his tongue gently probing and caressing. He could not help but take an active role in the duel, his tongue at first thrusting and parrying Bodie's strokes and stabs, until they settled into a lazy dance, circling and sucking.

For the first time since they had been partnered, Doyle truly understood Bodie's success with women. From the start, he had witnessed how Bodie's dark good looks and ability to charm ensured that they swarmed to him like bees drawn to nectar; but it was undoubtedly his phenomenal skill in the kissing stakes that seduced them into his bed. That Bodie apparently was able to affect him in the same way, he was beyond worrying about; indeed, coherent thought was fast becoming impossible in the face of his partner's expert seduction. Their bodies undulated together, strongly aroused, yet urgency in temporary abeyance thanks to their recent release.

As Bodie slowly withdrew his lips, it was a moment before Doyle realised that the whimper that had accompanied the action had come from him. Hooking one hand around the back of Bodie's neck, he pulled him down, none too gently, for another delicious kiss which lasted for several minutes. Snogging Bodie, he decided, could become seriously addictive. When they finally broke apart, both were once more fully aroused.

Doyle gazed in almost disbelief at his partner. "Christ, Bodie," he whispered. He was again about to question the wisdom of their actions, but the open look of utter vulnerability on Bodie's face stopped him. Of one thing he was certain, whatever was motivating Bodie, this wasn't a set-up; his partner's actions were speaking volumes. He realised without remorse that he'd lost it to Bodie at that first ecstatic touch of his prick, later reinforced by the earth-shattering kisses they had shared. He had no idea what he should say to his partner… Lover…?

The notion and its implications threatened to overwhelm him. In that moment, he was unaware that the look of uncertainty that crossed Bodie's face was merely a mirror of his own expression. Raising his palm, he cupped Bodie's cheek and ran a thumb gently over the full lips, leaving a smile in its wake. He smiled back.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Bodie averred, a note of awe in his voice.

Doyle grinned. "Wait a mo' Bodie; I'll fetch me tape recorder an' you can repeat what you just said, so I can play it back to you when you forget!"

"Gorgeous too!"

"Bloody 'ell! If I wasn't already lyin' down, I'd fall down. You sure you haven't knocked yourself on the head?" Doyle pulled Bodie's head down, pretending to search for bumps. "Nah, that thick skull of yours looks fine to me - 'sides, a thump would probably knock some sense into you."

"That what you want to do? Thump me?" Bodie's voice had a note of insecurity in it.

"Dunno what I want to do. Well I do, I just don't know which to do first."

Bodie looked apprehensive at his enigmatic reply. He sighed and, pulling Bodie's face towards his, stilled the movement when their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

"I'll start with another kiss," he murmured, "then we should talk."

Bodie's eyes shut as Doyle closed the gap. It started as before with the merest nuzzle of their lips, but firmed quickly as their tongues started to caress. Their bodies automatically moved together and when hardness met hardness - even through layers of clothing - they rubbed against each other, the incredible sensation almost sending him over the edge again. Panting, Doyle forced himself to break contact and was shocked to see kiss-swollen lips and the heavy-lidded look of arousal on Bodie's face.

I can do that to him. There was wonder in that thought. I can turn him on, something no other bloke could do…and the feeling's mutual, he acknowledged wryly.

Bodie leant forward, but Doyle halted the movement by placing a finger on his partner's lips. "We need to talk before we go any further."

"Can't we talk after?"

"After what?" asked Doyle, knowing full well what Bodie meant, but needing to hear it.

Bodie's eyes blinked open, more alert. "Dunno about you, but I can't think straight when my balls are tied in knots." With that, he leant down and kissed Doyle hard.

There was no time for thought, their instincts taking them along the path to relief. Hot, hard bodies surged together, the two men panting as though they were running a marathon. Their cocks enfolded in clothing, were trapped between iron-hard muscled stomachs, causing a delicious friction to entice them along the path to completion. Bodie pulled away, and straightened his elbows as Doyle wrapped his legs around his partner's hips to increase the pressure. Looking up, he continued to thrust upwards as he locked eyes with Bodie. His partner's dark hair was matted to his forehead with sweat which ran in slow rivulets down his face. Bodie's mouth turned upwards in a smile and Doyle was lost, coming hard with an almost-shout. A moment later, Bodie followed him into the outstretched arms of oblivion.

It was being sandwiched between a stickily hot and heavy body and a cold and unyielding floor that hastened Doyle to semi-consciousness. Rolling his partner's inert form off him, he stood up, bone-weary and enervated. Walking into the living room, Doyle found the forgotten football match on the television long over; in its place three men in dark suits were sitting around a table earnestly discussing the upcoming election. Doyle switched it and the light off before returning to the bedroom. A smile crossed his face at the sight of Bodie, still lying on the floor where he'd left him. Leaving the hall light on, he switched off the bedroom light and clambered with a heartfelt sigh onto his bed, not surprised to feel the bed dip a few minutes later, as Bodie silently rolled onto it beside him, still fully clothed.

Now that his sex-starved body was sated and his mind cleared, he began to wonder what Bodie was up to. Earlier that day he'd denied being queer, hadn't he? But now that he thought about it, he couldn't actually remember Bodie saying that. He'd always turned the question on him: Do you think I'm queer?

Doyle paused for thought for a moment. "Stand up," he suddenly ordered.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Bodie." His voice was soft.

Bodie threw him an unreadable look but obeyed, getting unsteadily to his feet. Doyle followed, pushing Bodie's sweater up under his armpits as he went. He was pleased to note the reflex action of raised arms, but instead of removing the sweater, he leant forward and applied supple lips to one nipple and was more than satisfied at the gasp his surprising action elicited. It seemed strange to be sucking a nipple on a completely flat chest. Yet, to Doyle, Bodie's body was, in its own way, as beautiful as any woman's. His partner was at the peak of fitness, his muscles firm and well-defined, his body lean.

Kneeling down, Doyle undid the button of the tight cords with difficulty, the front of them damp from two orgasms. He winced at the discomfort Bodie must be feeling in them. Dipping his tongue into Bodie's navel, he felt the stomach shiver in reflex. Slowly he pulled the zip down, careful not to trap anything which might cause pain. It was with a sense of amazement that he realised Bodie was getting another erection.

"Bloody hell Bodie, an' there was me thinkin' you were all talk," he said, truly impressed.

"'Ad a can of spinach while you were in the shower," Bodie joked.

As the zip slipped down and the trousers opened, it released a smell of musk, at once potent and heady. Once fully open, he was rewarded by Bodie's generous-sized cock bursting free. If he'd been asked in that moment to define Bodie's taste based on his experience during the threesome a few weeks previously, he would have been unable to get further than 'tart' or 'salty'. Yet as soon as he leant forward and swirled his tongue over the exposed head, he instantly recognised the tang that was Bodie. The cock was still moist from his previous ejaculations and he lapped at it avidly as he inhaled deeply the scent of his partner.

Bodie's trousers had fallen to lay pooled at his feet, but Doyle was too busy sampling new delights to bother with such mundane matters. Besides, they effectively fettered Bodie, preventing him from moving anywhere, which to his way of thinking at that moment, was a positive bonus. Opening his mouth wider, he sucked the cockhead in, relishing the gasp this action elicited, while two strong hands began to card his hair affectionately.

"Fucking hell Doyle," Bodie hissed through clenched teeth, "where did you learn to do that?"

Doyle pulled his mouth along the length of Bodie's cock and with a swift swirl of his tongue around the glans, let it go. "I'm just a natural, mate."

Doyle wrapped one hand around the base of the well-endowed prick and gently cupped Bodie's lightly-furred balls with the other. His hands moved in well-practised co-ordination as his mouth moved with just the right amount of pressure that he loved to have performed on himself.

So wrapped up and intent on his own and Bodie's pleasure, he scarcely gave a thought to the fact that he had never done such things to another man before. It didn't matter at that moment, as his whole mind focused on the fulfilment of Bodie's climax and his own enjoyment at pleasuring him so intimately. Carnal knowledge was a heady thing.

He had other knowledge too. His friend Tom had never questioned his almost prurient interest in matters homosexual; specifically of his deep questioning of their practices. His friend had patiently given him the honest answers he sought without exaggeration or embellishment and, most importantly, without attempting to gloss-over the realities of what was, for men like Tom who were under 21 years old, an illegal union at that time.

He had learnt, and had unconsciously stored that knowledge away. Tonight it was, for the first time, all coming back to him, allowing him to draw on it and put it to good use. Perhaps that was why he'd asked all those questions, because deep down he knew that some day he might need to know the answers.

Doyle subtly altered the position of his hand so that his fingers gently massaged the area behind Bodie's balls at the root of his cock. He felt Bodie shift his legs as much as his restricting trousers would allow him, giving him greater access. One finger slipped further back, while the rhythmic motion on the distended cock never ceased. Finding and pressing against the ring of tight muscle, he was rewarded with a long groan as the hands about his head tightened.

Doyle's ministrations were so effective that within minutes, he felt the cock twitch and then pulse against his tongue as Bodie thrust once, twice and then came. Doyle swallowed the cum as avidly as a hungry baby suckling his mother's milk. Still panting and a little shaky, it seemed as if Bodie was forcing himself to remain upright.

Tilting Doyle's head up Bodie smiled. "Christ Ray, you really have got a natural talent there. Can't remember the last time I came three times in a row like that."

Doyle grinned. "Last time you played 'Take the biscuit'?"

Bodie laughed and it was a wonderful sound to Doyle's ears. A note of challenge crept into his voice as he asked, "You up to seein' if you can do any better?"

"Oh, you're in for a real treat, Doyle my son," Bodie promised, eyes twinkling.

"Hang about, lemme get me jeans off first," he suggested as he stood up. Grimacing, he added, "They're nearly as soggy as your trousers."

Doyle watched as Bodie neatly stepped out of his cords and pulled him hard against his naked body, their mouths meeting in a hungry kiss. As his tongue plundered Bodie's mouth, he felt a hand insinuate itself between their bodies to press a flat palm against his crotch, and unselfconsciously pushed back against Bodie.

Doyle moved to undo the button of his trousers, but Bodie swiftly batted it away and broke the kiss. "I like to undo my own presents, if you don't mind," he admonished. Doyle grinned and happily capitulated.

Kneeling down, Bodie reached round to cup his buttocks, and pulling him forward, pressed his face to his jeans-clad groin. Moving back a little, Bodie slowly unzipped his tight jeans, and hooking his thumbs inside the waistband of his pants, pulled them down with the trousers. His cock sprung free to bounce provocatively before his partner, a glistening drop of moisture beckoning Bodie's tongue. He seemed willing to obey.

With heightened sensation, he felt the tongue curl around the crown of his cock, lapping at it, swiping away the moisture in its path. Gasping audibly, he caught Bodie's head, holding it in place. Bodie dipped forward, this time sucking the head into his mouth, causing a tremor to run through Doyle's body. Before he could get over excited, Bodie pulled away.

"What d'you go an' stop for?" asked Doyle plaintively. "Was enjoyin' that."

Bodie grinned up at him. "There'll be more of that in a minute, but not as long as your bloody carpet is chafing my knees! First off with these," and pulled Doyle's jeans down. He stepped neatly out of them.

"Right, on the bed," Bodie commanded and Doyle meekly obeyed.

"Now why can't you do as you're told the rest of the time?" Bodie asked as he got to his feet.

Doyle turned round to answer and was summarily pushed onto the bed, Bodie landing with a grunt on top of him.

Once they had sorted out their tangled legs, their bodies seemed to fit together neatly, their cocks trapped between them - after three climaxes, Bodie was only able to manage a half-hearted attempt at an erection. All the same, they pushed against one another, kissing deeply.

Abruptly, Bodie pulled away leaving Doyle feeling bereft. A moment later, a hot mouth was engulfing his cock, causing him to gasp at the sensation.

"Christ Bodie, you sure you've never done this before?"

"Nah... 'M like you - naturally talented."

"Smoothing-talking bastard!" said Doyle affectionately. "Tell you what - we could make a lot of money sellin' a talent like that!"

"Don't even think about it, Doyle. Your rights are free, but exclusive - wouldn't do this to another bloke if my life depended on it."

Even though he'd been joking and he knew Bodie must have known it, there was no smile on Bodie's face as he made that last comment. He realised it was going to take time for them to get used to this new intimacy that they were now sharing, and to know how far they could push without hurting or upsetting the other. They had so much to talk about, not the least of which was where their future lay.

As he lay back on the pillow, he watched the almost unbelievable image of Bodie's mouth working its magic on his cock. Macho Man Bodie, who'd never done that to another man - or at least so he claimed - goin' down on him. The sight and the sensations created by that pouting mouth were too overwhelming and like old king Canute, he was unable to hold back the inevitable tide.

Without a word, Bodie crawled up the bed and snuggled under the duvet, to lie wrapped around him. Doyle knew the moment Bodie fell asleep, as his breathing changed to a pattern that was slower and deeper. It was something he'd learnt to recognise over many night-time stake-outs and obbos, when they'd each had time to snatch a short nap. Despite physical exhaustion, after the momentous events of that evening Doyle's mind was racing far too much to be able to entertain the notion of sleep just yet.

He was very aware of the hot body curled up beside him, bare flesh touching his, Bodie's arm casually embracing his waist. What had they done? What had he done? Now he would no longer have to wonder how Bodie kissed. And now he knew what sex with another man was like. It was great. Fantastic even. He had reached heights of pleasure he hadn't even imagined. And it had all felt right.

He and Bodie knew each other so well, there hadn't been a single moment's awkwardness once they both knew what they wanted and what the other was willing to give. The sex had just become an extension of their friendship. So, the question was, was this an experimentation or something more permanent? If he had anything to do with it, it wasn't going to be a one-off and since Bodie had stayed over, he had no reason to believe Bodie thought that either. By Bodie's admission, they'd gone much further than the ex-merc had with any other man, which Doyle felt implied a level of commitment. Well, after all, they were already in a committed relationship of sorts, both professional and private. It was Bodie who had said that kissing was for lovers, and Bodie who had initiated their kissing. So by implication, that made them lovers in Bodie's book, which suited Doyle just fine.

The thought of those other men from Bodie's past brought a knot to Doyle's stomach. Faceless though they were, and clearly they'd meant nothing to his partner, he hated the fact that they'd known Bodie before he had, and in such an intimate way. He considered Bodie's girlfriends and suddenly found himself viewing them in a different way. Competition. He didn't like the thought at all. Interesting how his perceptions had changed so much that night.

Doyle found it ironic that the aspects of the job which had hitherto been the bane of their love lives, such as the late nights and unexpected stay-overs all over the country, would hardly affect them and if anything, would work for them. Where they'd shared rooms in tatty hotels, now they could share beds; when either of them was feeling randy, they could now do something about it straight away, given some privacy.

Now that he'd had a taste of Bodie, he found he didn't want to give him up. It would be easy to ensure that between the job and the demands he intended to make on Bodie's time, his partner wouldn't have much time for birds.

What about himself, though? He'd not had a girlfriend since before his shooting and he found the idea of one now quite unappealing. What he wanted was more of Bodie. The thought made him smile. He meant that in every sense. Come to think of it, Bodie had not had a steady girlfriend for pretty much the same duration; just the odd one nighter. He found that fact very encouraging. It looked very likely that Bodie felt the same way he did. If they had each other, why turn to anyone else.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that they had the perfect set-up. No-one knew them as well as they knew each other. No-one understood the pressures of their job as well as they did. No-one else was seemingly willing to put up with the hours they had to. Now that they'd made their relationship a full-blown affair, they would have the best of all worlds. They already gave each other companionship; had been practically living together since the beginning of the year; now they would be adding a fulfilling sex-life to the equation. Never again would they have to try to chat up birds when they were feeling randy, or try to placate a girlfriend who'd been stood-up for the umteenth time because of the demands of their job. They could even save Cowley money by getting one flat for the two of them.

Perfect, thought Doyle. What more could a bloke want?

Had it been anyone else, he might have been more cautious about rushing headlong into a full and committed relationship as he had with Ann Holly. The hurt he felt at the break-up of that affair was still with him and he had promised himself at the time he would never do that again. But this was Bodie, a known quantity; more than that, Bodie was a soul-mate; ideal in just about every way, bar the obvious fact - based on his previous track-record - that he was male. Doyle, however, was unconventional enough not to worry about a detail like that.

With a smile on his face, he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

It felt to Doyle as though it was the middle of the night when the shrill sound of the CI5 phone reverberated around the quiet room. Awakened from a deep slumber, the ringing left him mildly disoriented and with the phone being on Bodie's side, it was with some relief that he felt his partner twist towards the sound.

"You gonna answer the bloody thing?" Doyle asked, when it continued to ring insistently, his tone clearly indicating how he felt about being woken up so abruptly. Through a small gap in the heavy curtains, he could see the sun was up, but being July, it could still be - and certainly felt like it was - only 5 in the morning.

"Trying to…ah, there it is," said Bodie, sitting up.

"Shit." Doyle pulled the duvet over his head as his partner switched on the lamp and picked up the receiver.

"3.7."

Doyle peeked out from under the duvet, resigning himself to listening to a one-sided conversation. With a sniff, he noticed the musk of sex still clung to the room.

"No, I'm always bloody wide awake at this time of the morning. What's up? Trouble?"

Doyle smiled at Bodie's sarcastic tone. He watched with affection, the profile slightly turned away from him, seeing Bodie's face with new eyes. No longer the detached objective recognition of a set of features, but the subjective recognition of a thing of beauty. He could now happily and unselfconsciously acknowledge how handsome was the man who had become his lover.

"Oh, terrific - that's all we need."

He watched with some trepidation as Bodie's face hardened into a grim set.

"Er yeah, he is," Bodie looked down at him and ruffled his hair. Doyle smiled up at him.

"Had a bit of a late night, so I kipped down on his sofa. I'll let him know." Bodie hung up the phone and slid back down next to Doyle.

"What's up?" Doyle wanted to know.

"Briefing's cancelled. He wants us in his office at seven."

"Why? What's 'appened?"

"Falkener's wife's gone and shot him."

Doyle's eyes widened. "Dead?"

"Dunno - didn't ask."

He felt unaccountably annoyed by Bodie's reply. "Don't you care?"

"What's there to care about?" asked Bodie, an irritated tone creeping into his voice. "It's one less politician, which is never a bad thing."

Doyle sat up abruptly. "Christ, you're a heartless bastard, Bodie. How can you say that after yesterday?"

"What do you mean 'after yesterday'?" asked Bodie, a look of genuine puzzlement on his face.

Doyle wasn't entirely sure himself what he meant. "You know, listening to him and Michael - he's not a stranger any more - I sort of…well, I suppose I feel more involved..."

Bodie sat up abruptly. "Right - we're all queers together now - is that it?"

"No... well yes, sort of... oh Christ, I dunno."

"Sometimes you stun me with your naiveté," said Bodie, then added with a sneering tone, "Next you'll be wanting to tell the Cow we've gone queer for each other."

"Of course we'll have to tell Cowley..." Doyle's voice was raised, as he started to get defensive.

Bodie shook his head. "You've got to be out of your tiny mind, sunshine." There was no affection in the endearment. "You tell him, and we kiss goodbye to CI5."

"We can't not tell him, " Doyle argued. "If we tell him ourselves, we won't be a security risk. Besides, he's bound to suss it out sooner or later..."

"Why should he?"

"For a start, he's gonna wonder why we've stopped dating birds..."

Bodie's mouth firmed into a thin line.

"You are going to stop, aren't you?" asked Doyle, his voice quiet, his body absolutely still.

"Don't know. I haven't exactly had time to give it any thought." Resentment that they were having this conversation shone on Bodie's face.

Doyle exploded from the bed, his whole body quivering with rage. "Jesus - you've got to be the most callous, cynical, cold-blooded fuckin' bastard I've ever met. Last night I was gorgeous an' wonderful. What am I this mornin'? Just another fuckin' notch in the bedpost? What was with last night then? Wanted somethin' a bit more exotic, an' now you've had a taste, it's back to business as usual with the birds."

"It's not like that..." Bodie protested. His voice didn't carry any conviction and Doyle picked up that fact immediately.

"No? Tell me Bodie, which bit did I get wrong? The part about us being queer - that dent that huge fuckin' macho ego of yours? Or about tellin' Cowley?"

Bodie opened his mouth, but Doyle plunged on. "No, let me get this right; as far as you're concerned, there's nothin' to tell - one night in the sack doesn't count. Or..." he laughed, but the sound was mirthless, its edge bitter, "...did you just think you'd be able to turn to me when you couldn't get anythin' better? Is that it Bodie?"

Bodie's failure to answer told him all he needed to know. Bodie threw him a pleading look, but he wasn't receptive - as far as he was concerned, if Bodie wasn't even trying to defend himself, it meant that he was right about how his partner felt about all this. "Why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone," he shouted at him, and stormed out of the room. Behind him, the door slammed with a satisfying bang.

Shutting the bathroom door, Doyle leant weakly against it. His heart felt as though it had turned into a fist which was trying to punch its way out of his chest, his breaths released in sharp gasps as tears of anger flowed freely down his face.

Fuck Bodie, fuck CI5, fuck everythin', he thought viciously.

Drawing on yoga techniques he had learnt at college, it was with great effort that he forced his taut muscles to relax, inhaling shakily, but deeply. Uncurling his fists, his shoulders slumped like a man defeated. But deep down, the anger had not dissipated; neither had the profound sense of hurt.

He glanced at the wall clock as the outside world began to intrude. He had a job to do - they had a meeting with Cowley and he was well aware that he was not in a fit state to be seen in public.

Although he reeked of sex with Bodie, the fact remained unacknowledged. A shower might wash away the odour, but not the memories, for the cascading water warmed him and caressed his skin, reminding him of Bodie's featherlight touches a few hours earlier. To his horror, his body responded independent of his will, in a shameless act of betrayal. A bubble of anger welled up in him that his body remembered what his mind was striving to forget; the final ignominy that even absent, Bodie could have such an effect. Yet his anger did not burst to the surface, held in check as it was by a vestige of self-control that even those who knew him well would have been surprised to find he possessed. In the face of such willpower, his erection, to his relief, quickly dwindled.

His ablutions over, Doyle had no choice but to return to his bedroom for his clothes. Wrapping a towel firmly around his waist he felt the adrenaline begin to buzz through his veins as he walked towards his room. Opening the door, he ignored the cloying musk of sex as his eyes were drawn to Bodie's pale body, squatting before an open drawer in an unintentional parody of his position the previous night. This time, however, Doyle did not allow himself the luxury of a lingering look. Yet in that short glance, he became aware of the tension, as though it were a visible aura, radiating from his partner.

Walking over to the wardrobe, he searched for a clean pair of jeans. At least the bastard was out of his bed, he thought viciously. He was disgusted to see his hand shaking as he reached for a hanger. Fuck Bodie... Yes, he'd like to, wouldn't he? an inner voice taunted. He'd fuck the living daylights out of him, he swore to himself.

Turning around, he was part relieved and part disappointed to find that Bodie had left the room. For a few minutes, it gave him the privacy he sought, but he would not be gone long enough to allow him time to think and space to breathe. With that thought, he noticed that Bodie had opened the window, the cloying smell of their sex no longer lingering. For that small thought, he was grateful.

When Bodie returned, showered, dressed and hair still damp, he was subdued and made no attempt to resolve their personal conflict. "We got time for a cuppa before we go?" he asked quietly.

Doyle decided to attempt some semblance of normality. As he glanced at his watch, he estimated they'd not need much driving time as traffic would still be light at that early hour of the morning. "Yeah, OK. Mine's a coffee."

The fact that Bodie went to put the kettle on without argument should have given Doyle some clue as to his partner's state of mind. Too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice, he walked into the living room, preferring to stay away from Bodie for the little time that he could. However, the smell of toast assailed his nostrils, drawing him into the kitchen to ensure that he got his fair share. He timed it perfectly as Bodie threw him a wan smile and handed him a large wedge of toast and a mug of coffee. Sitting down, they had breakfast in tense silence.

Doyle's nerves were strung taut and he knew without doubt that he would not be able to keep his anger in abeyance all day. He fervently hoped that at their meeting, Cowley would assign them separate duties.

Locks and alarms set, he exited the apartment block with a scowl, remembering only now that they'd driven to his flat the previous night in Bodie's car. With little grace, he slumped in the passenger seat in stony silence. Bodie's proximity served to increase his tension.

Their arrival at the CI5 building left them with nearly ten minutes to spare. Bodie disappeared as soon as he got into the building, and Doyle left him to it. The Rest Room was empty save for Jax on standby.

"All right?" Doyle enquired as he put the kettle on.

"Yeah, not bad," came the non-committal reply.

The silence extended as Doyle made himself a coffee. "Problems?" he asked eventually, as he perched on the arm of a chair.

"Remember that case I was working on - the prostitute - Salome Ngora - and the Defence Minister?"

Doyle nodded. "McAllister."

"Yeah. Well, every way I turn, I get dead ends. She'd disappeared off the face of the earth by the time the pictures made the press. Her pimp, Errol Brown, instead of trying to get money for the pictures, gave them away and promptly vanished too. He's got to have been paid off by someone and damned if I can find out who."

"A set up?" Doyle asked, surprised.

"I think so and Cowley agrees. Brown could have made a fortune selling the pictures, so why did he give them away. Someone must have paid him off."

"An' you think he's jumped the country?" Doyle asked.

"If he has, he didn't do it on his own passport, same goes for Ngora."

Doyle stared into his half-drunk cup of coffee and considered those facts for a moment. "So, what if someone wants to set McAllister up. They find a pimp - Brown - an' one of his girls - Ngora. Do the dirty to get the photos then get Brown to send 'em to the press. If the papers had had to pay for them, they would have needed a contact for Brown to meet up with him to negotiate - an' they might have started asking awkward questions. By just mailing them out, there's no contact - Brown's already been paid off, so he can just disappear with the cash."

"Yeah that's what I'd figured, or Brown gets bumped off…"

"True. Less messy - no chance of him squealin'," Doyle agreed. "Motive?"

"No idea. I've run around the bloody country trying to get leads and all I get is blanks. MPs are rarely loved, but McAllister had no real enemies as far as I can tell. The whole thing stinks and it's frustrating me to hell." He grinned wryly. "Bet you wish you hadn't asked."

Doyle smiled. "Nah, it's good to get it off your chest." That said, there was no way he was going to take his own advice and tell anyone what was on his own mind. "You workin' on it full-time then?"

Jax shook his head. "Not since the first week. Just go back to it when there's nothing else. Cowley wants answers and I can't deliver them."

Doyle looked at his watch. "Talkin' of Cowley, gotta go." He finished the last of his coffee in three big gulps. "See you later."

Jax waved.

He found Bodie hanging around outside Cowley's office. Striding up to the door, Doyle knocked immediately without making eye contact with his partner.

"Come in, come in," said Cowley. Sitting at his desk, he pulled off his spectacles and rubbed wearily at the bridge of his nose. "It's been a long night," he muttered as he gathered his thoughts to order, "and I've got a meeting with Willis and Blackwell from MI6 in half an hour." Vaguely motioning with his spectacles for the two men to sit, he sifted through a large file on his desk. The two operatives did as indicated, Bodie sitting stiffly upright.

Looks like he's had less sleep than us, thought Doyle ruefully.

"When Falkener arrived home last night," he began without preamble, "he announced to his wife that he had tended his resignation as Member of Parliament for Bencester; apparently, the news sent her over the edge. She found his shotgun rifle, walked into their kitchen and shot him."

"Dead?" asked Doyle, leaning forward in his chair.

The movement was not lost on his boss. "Very nearly. He has a neighbour..." Donning his glasses, he shuffled through a few papers, picked one out and glanced at it. "...a Dr. Carter, to thank for saving his life." Leaning back in his seat, he unconsciously rubbed his bad leg. "She was sitting by an open window when she heard the shot from the house next door. On investigation, she found Falkener's hysterical wife in the kitchen standing over his body, blood everywhere. Fortunately for Falkener, Carter is a surgeon and managed to stem the flow of blood until an ambulance got there."

"How did Carter manage to call an ambulance with all that going on?" Doyle asked, perplexed.

"She didn't; Anson did. He was on surveillance and had heard the shot too. In fact, Carter got there only just ahead of him." Cowley leant forward, an indication that the crux of the meeting was upon them. "Mrs. Falkener is currently under sedation at Old Cross hospital, near their home in Little Malding. I want you to drive out there to question her." Before any protests could be made, the CI5 chief looked pointedly at Bodie, who'd remained sullenly silent throughout the briefing. "And go easy on her - I want none of your usual strong-arm tactics. In fact..." he paused and stared with unfocussed eyes out of his window for a moment as he thought, then continued, "unfortunately, there aren't any female operatives free, so go to the local station and pick up a WPC..."

"But Sir..." spluttered Bodie, his silence finally broken.

Cowley had expected the outburst. "If you are about to question my orders, 3.7," his eyes flashed anger, his voice deceptively soft he continued, "I strongly urge you to reconsider."

"No sir." Danger signals recognised, the capitulation was immediate and unconditional.

Cowley, tired from too little sleep, and preoccupied with Bodie's insubordination, missed the grim look that crossed Doyle's face at the thought of having to spend the day with his partner.

"You will question Mrs. Falkener; try to find out what her motives were; see if you smell a rat. I have my own theory about this case…" It was with an almost whisper that he added, "I hope to god you don't confirm them."

In that moment, Cowley seemed to wilt, looking older than his years, as though the burden of running the department had suddenly become too much. Doyle knew there were few people who Cowley would allow to see such vulnerability. Whilst Cowley had said that he was pleased to have his best team back together, Doyle wondered whether he relied on them too much.

"At this stage," Cowley added, "until we have more on Falkener, we'll leave him be."

Doyle was still preoccupied at the prospect of having to spend the day with his partner and gave voice, without due consideration to Cowley's mood, to the thought that immediately sprung to mind.

"Isn't this police work, sir?"

Cowley visibly bristled at the question. The moment the words left his mouth, Doyle regretted them. Everyone knew that when he was tired, the Scotsman's temper was notoriously short.

"Since he's been under our surveillance 4.5, it's our jurisdiction. Do I make myself clear?"

Doyle winced at the shouted words. "Yessir."

"Now if you two have quite finished telling me how to run my operation..."

The agents needed no second telling and headed for the door with alacrity, Cowley a few steps behind them. "Running all the way sir," Bodie grinned over his shoulder.

Outside the Controller's office, two men sat waiting - Doyle recognised the head of MI6 immediately, but not the man with him.

"Ah, Willis and Blackwell," said Cowley and ushering them inside, shut the door.

As soon as it closed, Doyle maliciously added an effeminate whine to his voice as he repeated Bodie's parting words to their boss. It was with a deep sense of satisfaction that he watched Bodie's face momentarily harden as the camp tone of his voice hit home. While the look didn't last long, he gleefully realised he had a potent weapon against Bodie, one that he could use mercilessly whenever the bastard got up his nose.

"Oh, that's nice that is," Bodie complained, apparently choosing to ignore the significance of Doyle's previous tone. "You make some fart-arsed remark that'd get up Cowley's nose on a good day and when I try 'n' get us out before he gives us something really naff to do, all you can do is take the piss."

"Deserve everythin' you get, you bastard," muttered Doyle, stiffly striding off down the corridor. He was still positively seething and resigned himself to the fact that the two-hour drive to the hospital was going to be somewhere between unpleasant and unbearable.

While Bodie stopped off at the lavatory, Doyle headed straight for the car park. Parked next to his car was a shiny new red Jaguar - Willis's, he assumed. Lucky bastard, thought Doyle. With his paltry CI5 salary, he'd have to wait until that car was ten years old before he could afford to buy it.

Climbing into his own Capri, he started it up and was impatiently revving the engine by the time Bodie made an appearance. He watched as Bodie squatted down beside his open window, and enquired with apparently genuine concern, "You sure you're up to driving, Ray?"

Doyle turned to him, his face a mask of tenuous control, his pent-up emotions clearly seething away just beneath the surface.

Bodie shrugged. "Please yourself," he said, a lot more nonchalantly than he probably felt, Doyle noted with satisfaction.

"Little Malding's only about ten miles from the SAS HQ," Bodie remarked. The comment was greeted with a stony silence, designed to put him off bothering with any further attempt at conversation.

From the moment he pulled away, Doyle drove aggressively, displaying a singularly selfish attitude in his total disregard to other road-users. But it was worth it, he decided with relish, because within five minutes Bodie's knuckles were white where he was gripping the edge of the seat. Granted the overt action was following two near misses, one with a car and the other with a bus, but he was in control, knew what he was doing. Turning off the busy main road, he followed one of his many rat-runs through the maze of London's back streets.

The road they were on was a quiet, leaf-lined street. Nice and wide with no on-coming traffic. He put his foot down and the needle nudged 40 mph. Bodie, he gloated, was a bundle of tension next to him.

"Stop!" Bodie shouted, gripping the dashboard and pushing his foot hard against a non-existent brake pedal, encountering instead the car floor. Simultaneously, Doyle slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop inches away from a surprised young child who had suddenly appeared from between parked cars as he chased after his ball onto the road.

Seemingly unaware of the danger he had been in, the young boy retrieved his ball and returned to the pavement, leaving two very shaken men behind him.

"I'll drive," said Bodie quietly, his voice brooking no argument, yet devoid of accusation. Doyle, trembling slightly at what had nearly happened, climbed out of the car without a murmur. His heart thumping so loudly he could almost hear it, he walked around to the left side of the car in a daze and got in the passenger side.

Doyle was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Bodie had no idea where they were. He could've killed the child - if Bodie hadn't been there, he probably would have, he painfully acknowledged. The reason his partner had spotted him first was because the child had appeared from the right. From the passenger seat Bodie had been in a better position than him to see the kid. Then a thought ruefully occurred to him: if he'd been on his own, it probably wouldn't have happened because he wouldn't have been drivin' like a fuckin' moron.

His mind had not been on the road, but instead had been occupied with fantasising unpleasant ways he could dispose of Bodie, the thoughts fuelled by his partner's infuriating presence so close by. Funny how this time yesterday he was thinking how nice it was to have someone like Bodie around, and now he couldn't wait to get free of the bastard.

He had already relegated what had happened between them to an aberration, squarely laying the blame on Bodie's shoulders. That his partner apparently thought he could be used as a means of relief when between girlfriends, hurt him more than he cared to admit. Of one thing he was certain: the whole thing had damaged their partnership, quite probably, for good.

Bodie's achievement of finding his way out of the maze of London back streets went unrecognised and despite the time lost as he tried to locate a main road, the journey still only took a little over two hours.

The tense silence was finally broken by a question from Doyle as they passed Little Malding Police Station. Keeping his eyes firmly on the road in front of them, he asked casually, "You forgotten we're supposed to be picking up a WPC?"

Bodie's lips pulled into a stern line as he drove along until he found a lay-by. Turning the wheel hard ready for a U-turn, they sat waiting for a gap in the traffic.

"'s all we need, some bloody plodette holding Falkener's wife's hand while we're questioning her," he grumbled.

If the derogatory remark about women police officers was designed to irritate, Bodie had just scored a bullseye. Doyle, however, was not going to give his partner the satisfaction of knowing that.

"You know the rules," Doyle pointed out. Secretly, he was amazed he was able to sound so calm considering the seething morass of emotion bubbling just beneath the cool exterior. It helped to know that having a WPC along really irritated Bodie. Anything that got up his partner's nose was classed as 'A Good Thing'.

Bodie's u-turn was so fast and tight, the tyres squealed, startling an old lady walking on the adjacent pavement. "Thought Cowley made the rules up as he goes along," Bodie remarked, blithely unaware of the elderly pedestrian throwing him a most unlady-like gesture at the receding car.

"Only when it suits him." Doyle almost smiled at the truth of his statement. "Falkener's got friends in high places, so Cowley's not gonna want to put her nose out of joint if he can help it."

"She shot her fucking husband! She deserves everything she gets," Bodie pointed out.

"Thought you didn't give a toss about him."

"It just pisses me off that money and the right school tie can make a difference when someone breaks the law," Bodie explained, as he turned the car into the Police Station forecourt. The building in front of them was a typical 60's boxy design in yellow brick and white-framed windows, with concrete steps leading up to a double door entrance.

Doyle automatically sized the place up. "Yeah, well you know my opinion on that," he said, distracted.

Bodie pulled up in a visitor's parking bay.

"Back in a mo'," Doyle said as he threw open the door. Knowing Bodie was watching, he smiled to himself as he swayed his hips just a little more than usual as he walked up to the building. If the sod fancies him, let him see what he can't have any more, Doyle thought with deep satisfaction. With that thought, a whole new world of ideas to rub Bodie's nose in it appeared before him. He was almost happy when he reached the front steps, and taking them two at a time, entered.

When Doyle emerged from the building, he had one arm loosely draped about the shoulders of a plain-clothed policewoman. Even in her flat, lace-up shoes she was tall. With the warm weather, she had foregone her jacket and hat, wearing only a dark uniform skirt which accentuated her slim figure, together with a crisp white blouse and tie. Her blond hair was cut in a short page-boy fashion, which had been all the rage amongst working women in London the previous year.

"He doesn't much like coppers, so don't mind if seems a bit off-hand," Doyle half-whispered to her as they approached the car.

Opening the passenger door with a flourish, Doyle pulled the seat forward to allow her to climb into the back. As she bent down to enter, he announced: "Karen Halford - Bodie."

The tone of Karen's terse greeting and the perfunctory glance that accompanied it were clear indications that Doyle had revealed Bodie's earlier sentiments about having to take her along. A flash of resentment clouded Bodie's face for a moment at Doyle's betrayal, quickly replaced by a more neutral expression. In fact, he noted, Bodie was so in control, that when Doyle cheerfully climbed into the back seat with the policewoman, Bodie's expression remained unchanged. Doyle knew he'd hit a nerve and crowed inwardly; he was going to have fun getting back at his partner.

Bodie started the car up and, with what Doyle recognised was great self-control, managed to pull out of the car park without leaving half his tyres behind. A quarter of a mile down the main road en route to the hospital, he gallantly stopped to allow an old woman to cross the road. To everyone's surprise, the woman glared at Bodie and, remaining steadfastly on the curb, treated him to a two-fingered salute.

"Bloody hell!" he grumbled as he pulled away. "Natives are a bit unfriendly round here."

His comment wasn't just referring to the old lady and Karen realised it too. "I'd appreciate it if you kept your patronising comments to yourself!" she exclaimed.

Normally, Bodie irritating someone like that would have caused the two CI5 agents to exchange knowing looks as they shared the joke. This time, however, Doyle twisted the knife further by smiling apologetically at Karen when he saw Bodie glance in the rear-view mirror. He knew he'd hit home when Bodie's expression hardened even more.

The country hospital was a Victorian red-brick building on three floors which, over the years, had had various annexes added, until it had become an untidy sprawl. Bodie pulled into the staff carpark and as he applied the handbrake, turned to Karen with a challenging look, daring her, Doyle realised, to object to the fact that he was in some consultant's parking space. A brief look of disappointment etched his features when she remained silent.

"Any idea where to go? he asked her.

"Casualty reception's over there," she said pointing to a set of double doors nearby.

"Falkener, did you say?" asked a dour-looking receptionist, flicking through a large box of admission cards for the second time.

"Probably in a private ward," Bodie added.

Doyle, who was casually leaning on the counter, became aware of a young male nurse who had stopped beside them, scrutinising him.

"Private patients are admitted separately," stated the receptionist with a glare, the tone of her voice stating clearly how she felt about people wasting her time. "You'll have to go to the reception at the Prince Edward wing. Go out of that door, turn left..."

"It's all right Mavis," said the nurse. "I'm going that way myself. Can you let Dr. Fuller know I'm over there for the rest of my shift, love." Turning, he spoke directly to Doyle. "Follow me."

Doyle and the nurse fell in step with Bodie and Karen trailing them in silence.

"You're not from round here, are you?" the nurse asked Doyle.

"No." His answer did not invite more questions.

The nurse left them at a very different reception to the one in the National Health wing: the stark, clinical lines were replaced by a quiet luxury. Doyle found himself addressing the formidable-looking staff nurse who was in charge of Mrs. Falkener's ward. Gaining access, he quickly discovered, was not going to be easy. The sister was adamant that, since Mrs. Falkener was still asleep under sedation, her patient was not to be disturbed, no matter how impressive the ID being dangled in front of her nose.

Retreating to the nearby seating area, Bodie headed determinedly for a corridor as soon as the imposing woman had left.

"Bodie: don't," Doyle called, realising his partner had no intention of abiding by the nurse's wishes. He walked over to Bodie so that he would be out of earshot of Karen. Even after all that had passed between them, Doyle realised he had no wish for the policewoman - an outsider - to hear any serious disagreement between them.

With difficulty, he forced himself to look at his partner. This was work and whatever personal problems they had must not be allowed to interfere with their professionalism. "Cowley doesn't want us to make waves on this one, Bodie. If we wake up Falkener's wife and that sister reports us, he'll have our guts for garters. She can't stay asleep for ever. We can check again in an hour - maybe talk to a doctor."

Doyle was treated to Bodie's silent regard for a moment, his partner's eyes cold and emotionless. He was sure his campaign to make Bodie's life a misery was having some effect - and any remorse on that count was ruthlessly quashed. Yet his chatting with Karen, even flirting with her had so far brought no overt reaction. His present anger, therefore, was more likely because he wasn't able to bulldoze his way into Falkener's wife's room and shake her out of her stupor. In that, he too was sorry, but for different reasons: hanging around the hospital (always high on his list of things to avoid) meant prolonging the time spent with the currently nominated least favoured person in his life.

Doyle realised with some dismay that his partner was close to losing his temper. It was something Bodie rarely allowed, but when he did, it was usually explosive. He could see Bodie grinding his teeth as he weighed up the options of risking Cowley's wrath and getting their visit over and done with. Eventually, Bodie seemed to come to a silent decision, giving him a terse nod for an answer. He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, deciding treading on eggshells was surely easier.

Doyle wandered back to Karen, who was sitting watching Bodie as he prowled restlessly up and down like a caged wild beast. He sat down next to her, distracting her.

"Is he always like this?" she asked, sotto voce.

Leaning towards her, he replied quietly, "Nah, he has his moments. Just doesn't like bein' kept waiting."

"I'll bet you do a lot of hanging around in your job, so he must be used to it. I mean, it can't all be action."

"Tell me about it!" smiled Doyle. Turning towards where Bodie was prowling he explained, "It's not the waiting he hates, it's bureaucrats and administrators who stop us from doing our job for no good reason. Unless things have changed radically since I left the Force, it can't be any different for you."

"No, you're right. But, all the same, he doesn't look easy to work with."

"Yeah, he took a bit of getting used to. But now I wouldn't be partnered with anyone else."

As he said the words, he realised it was true. Bodie was the best partner he'd ever had, the best friend he'd ever had, and if the previous night was anything to judge by, he could have been the best lover he'd ever had too. But pride would not allow him to be used as a convenience on occasions when Bodie couldn't get anything better. If only he could persuade Bodie that there could be more to a sexual relationship between them than the occasional shag. The memory of Bodie sucking him off leapt unbidden into his mind, sending a bolt of arousal through him. Following on its heels were feelings of overwhelming resentment and anger that Bodie had that kind of power over him.

Forcing himself to put all thoughts of Bodie out of his mind, Doyle turned away from where his partner was pacing and back to Karen. She was a nice girl, he conceded, but he didn't fancy her. Not that he wanted Bodie to know that. Quite the opposite, in fact. He wanted to show the bastard he could do quite happily without him, thank you very much. To that end, he chatted animatedly to Karen, their common police background being the main topic of conversation.

After a short while, some sixth sense made Doyle turn to find that Bodie had disappeared. From that moment on, only half his mind was on his conversation, the other half wondering where his partner was and what he was up to. Whatever it was, he knew it had nothing to do with the fact that he was getting on so well with Karen - Bodie had too much pride to let any feelings of jealousy show.

Fifteen minutes after Doyle had noted his partner's disappearance, Karen glanced over Doyle's shoulder and asked, "What's he up to?"

Doyle swung round to see Bodie strolling beside a young and very attractive intern, obviously deep in conversation. Everything about her was petite, giving her the appearance initially of someone in their late teens. Her jet-black hair was swept back into a small tight bun at the nape of her neck, with a fringe which contrasted with a bright green eyes and pale skin.

They stopped nearby, but out of earshot, and it was with a sinking feeling that he recognised the look in her eyes as she continued to chat to his partner. He had seen it on the faces of dozens of girls when they had been out together. Bodie had her hooked. He didn't know why he was so surprised - he'd seen his partner in action enough times to know he could pull bloody fast. The first kiss usually sealed it - and after last night he had first-hand experience to understand why. The memory of that time, those sweet, surprisingly tender kisses, brought on a deep ache in his gut. It had been so bloody wonderful.

Shit! He had to stop torturing himself.

"Ray!" said Karen, pulling at his sleeve. "Are you all right?"

With some difficulty, he focused his mind on the present. "What?...oh yeah. Sorry."

"I wondered where you'd got to; you were miles away. Is your partner just chatting her up?" Even Karen could clearly read the young doctor's body language. "Or is he actually trying to organise something?"

Doyle stood up. "I'll go find out. Wait here a mo."

He hoped he looked casual as he wandered over to the couple, his face carefully schooled to neutrality.

As he approached, the doctor glanced at him briefly, but it was clear she saw nothing of interest there - presumably Bodie was much more her type.

"Ah, Raymondo."

Not one muscle on his face altered to reflect the irritation he felt at Bodie's patronising tone.

"This is Linda - Dr. Mahon to you."

"Pleased to meet you," replied the doctor, her soft Irish burr barely detectable in her voice.

Doyle forced a smile.

"Linda says she'll let us see Mrs. Falkener in about ten minutes," announced Bodie. Doyle noticed that Bodie was unable to prevent a triumphant grin from slipping out and he knew exactly what it meant. He was forced to concede that it was round one to Bodie. The ache in his gut was turning into a fist that was beginning to squeeze.

"Great. Promise we'll be gentle with her." Doyle was relieved he'd managed to sound normal.

As she stood close to Bodie - closer, thought Doyle angrily, than a stranger had any right to be standing, she grinned at him, showing off even white teeth. "I already have Bodie's word of honour, haven't I?"

Honour? Doyle thought harshly. He doesn't know the bloody meaning of the word.

"'S right," Bodie smiled back.

"Follow me," said Linda, moving towards a set of double doors. Bodie didn't, he walked at her side.

"Karen, this way," called Doyle as he set off after them. The policewoman gained his side in seconds, but his clear preoccupation stopped her from asking where they were going.

"What time does your shift end?" asked Bodie.

Linda grinned. "Are you propositioning me?"

Doyle saw Bodie throw her one of his innocent looks. It got them every time, Doyle thought disgustedly.

"Just wondering," he murmured.

"Hmm. Well, I came on just over an hour ago, so I won't be off until around eleven."

"Bloody hell. That's a twelve-hour day."

"That's right, which is one better than a twelve-hour night." She paused beside a door that led to a number of private rooms, her hand on the handle. "You must do long hours in your line of work."

"Yeah, but I hope your pay's better than ours. Got to be. No-one could get less than us."

Linda laughed and then took Bodie a little way away from where Doyle and Karen were now standing, presumably so that they could not be overheard.

Doyle could see a smile play about Linda's lips as she spoke to Bodie, flirting - there was no other word for it, he realised disgustedly. Time to up the ante, he decided.

"He's a fast worker," commented Karen as she watched the by-play. "Does he drop them as quickly?"

Doyle didn't answer, regretting now revealing to Karen that Bodie hadn't wanted her along. In doing so, he had provided her with an excuse to run his partner down, and while he had every right to do it, he felt resentful when she did it. For now he'd keep his own counsel, but he'd only let her go so far. Oblivious to Doyle's conflict, Karen continued to muse. "I bet he's a real wham-bam-thankyou-ma'am sort of bloke. No finesse. He looks the selfish type."

He isn't! a voice inside Doyle shouted. He can be gentle and loving and... All thought ceased at the look Bodie gave Linda just before she went through the door she had paused by. The fist in his gut tightened further, until it was almost painful.

Bodie sauntered over, looking distinctly smug and in that moment, Doyle's hurt turned to anger.

"No good talking to the oily rag mate," said Bodie. "Gotta talk to the engineer if you want to get anywhere."

With supreme self-control, Doyle suppressed every emotion that he felt at that moment and loftily ignored him.

Linda's head suddenly appeared around the door. "This way." She led them to a nearby door. "You can have ten minutes with her. But don't overtax her, she's feeling very fragile at the moment."

"Not half as fragile as her old man," muttered Doyle.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure she's all right," Karen assured the doctor, quickly covering Doyle's words.

 

Bodie and Doyle stepped out of the room leaving Karen to hold Mrs. Falkener's hand as she wept.

"Jesus, what a mess," said Bodie.

"Cowley's gonna be furious," predicted Doyle, knowing it to be a serious understatement. "Better call him pronto."

"Toss you for it," suggested Bodie.

Doyle's head snapped up at his partner's badly-timed innuendo. However, the worried look on Bodie's face revealed that the comment had simply been an unfortunate choice of words. "I'll do it," Doyle said, grimly.

It was with some trepidation that Doyle went in search of a public phone. When he hears this, he thought to himself, the Cow is not going to be a happy bunny.

Dialling the operator, he reversed the call, and was connected all too quickly. Since the phone he was ringing had an automatic scrambling device, he knew he could be candid. The thought was not that reassuring.

"4.5 here sir. We've just interviewed Mrs. Falkener. She's in a bit of a state …" he paused wondering where to begin.

"Get on with it man! I haven't got all day. Just give me the facts - did she give any reason for shooting her husband?"

"She claims he's always been homosexual - they had a fling when they were at university together - and she fell pregnant. She insisted they marry, but they've not slept together since - he's been havin' discreet homosexual affairs all this time …"

"Yes, yes, we know all that, and she's had her fair share of affairs too," cut in Cowley. "Why did she shoot him?"

Doyle quelled the anger that rose at the admission of knowledge of these facts. It would have been nice, he thought, to have been warned about the probability of their having to eavesdrop on intimate homosexual encounters at Falkener's flat.

At that moment, a woman walked past, forcing him to keep his voice low. "From what I can gather," Doyle continued almost without pause, "his wealthy background, an' the power that came from his bein' an MP, made her willin' to go along with the charade. She had her own affairs, includin' a recent one with a senior minister - do you know about that one, sir?"

"Which one? She's had several."

"With the New Defence Minister - Hargreaves."

"Yes I did, although I'm getting a strong feeling I'm not going to like what you're about to tell me." The voice had taken on a grim tone. "Go on."

"She claims Hargreaves was all set to leave his wife for her and she was goin' to leave Falkener. They hatched a plot to discredit Falkener - apparently the two men were at Eton together and Hargreaves didn't like Falkener even then. I'll bet there's a story there too …"

"Enough speculating, 4.5. Give me facts."

"They both wanted him to lose his parliamentary job, but rather than come out with the truth about Falkener in the press, which would reflect badly on her, they quietly circulated rumours that he was up to somethin' by way of espionage - that he was being blackmailed because of his homosexuality by a foreign power. Until the recent Cabinet reshuffle, his junior minister position at the Defence Ministry would have made him an easy target."

"Indeed - and those rumours are what cost him his junior minister's job and what brought us into the picture. We never would have become involved if it wasn't for the double agent still loose in MI6."

"Meanwhile, Hargreaves' appointment came as a complete surprise to him and once he'd got the job, he was privately advised that leavin' his wife would be bad publicity for the government so close to the General Election. So he finished the affair with Mrs. Falkener …"

"That still doesn't explain the gun, 4.5."

"I was just getting to that, sir …"

"Well, get there." Cowley's irascible tone wasn't lost on the operative. He himself wasn't keen on prolonging his report any more than was strictly necessary.

"I don't think it's come to light yet, but Falkener called at the house of the chairman of his constituency committee last night and tendered his resignation. The reason he cited was that he was in love with another man and he wasn't going to live a lie any more. Then he went back to his home and told his wife that he'd resigned and that he was leaving her for this steward, Michael…"

"…Todd," Cowley supplied.

"I think losing Hargreaves and then Falkener too, pushed her over the top. She went to his gun cupboard and turned one on him. Fortunately for Falkener, she's a lousy shot."

"Good God. What a mess. I want you to tell Falkener what's been going on - give him the whole story. I don't suppose you'll have much luck, but I want you to try to get him to press charges. Meanwhile, I'm going after Hargreaves. Wasting tax-payers money and CI5 time will be good ones to start with. I expect a full report on my desk tonight, 4.5. Alpha One out."

Doyle visibly slumped. That hadn't been as bad as he'd expected. At least The Cow hadn't hit the roof. That was bad news for Hargreaves though. The times when Cowley held his anger in check, you knew he was really furious.

When Doyle returned, his expression hadn't changed.

Bodie stood up. "What'd he say?"

Still unable to bring himself to look at his partner, Doyle shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed out of a nearby window. "Not much."

"Bad as that?"

"Worse." Doyle stared down at his feet. "He wants Falkener to know exactly what's been goin' on. He already knew about her an' Hargreaves. He's going after him, all guns blazin'."

"Fucking hell - telling Falkener isn't going to be easy. Why do we get all the shitty jobs?"

"You," Doyle said to his partner. "You can have the shitty job of interviewin' him. I'll stand at the back and take notes." He glanced across the empty waiting area. "Where's Karen?"

"Told her we didn't need her any more," Bodie answered matter-of-factly.

Doyle's look was accusatory. "How the fuck's she supposed to get back to the station? We drove her here, remember?"

"Couple of her mates came in with some bloke who'd been in a pile-up. One went through there with the stretcher case; the other one took her back. Saves us the trouble."

Doyle felt strangely irritated by that but before he said anything, he spotted the male nurse who'd helped them earlier and strode over to him. He was dimly aware of Bodie following him in his wake.

"Excuse me," he said to the nurse with a broad smile.

The young man stopped and treated Doyle to a frank appraisal and he let him, knowing Bodie was beside him, watching.

Bodie held up his ID. "We need to talk to Jeremy Falkener."

The nurse gave Bodie a cursory glance and then addressed Doyle. "You'll have to talk to Dr. Pemble about that. Let's see if we can find him."

"A while ago you made a comment about us not being from round here," said Doyle, conversationally. "How did you know?"

"I think I'd remember seeing you before," replied the nurse, his voice dripping innuendo as his gaze dropped to Doyle's tightly-clad groin and back up to his smiling face.

"Down here," said the nurse, turning a corner and tugging at Doyle's arm. The nurse didn't let go and he didn't try to pull away from the familiar touch. At last, Doyle discerned a change in his partner. As he strode stiffly beside them, Bodie's normally easy manner was noticeably absent.

"Are you staying here overnight?" the nurse asked hopefully.

"Dunno," Doyle smiled at him. "May do."

"No, we're not." Bodie answered, his voice, obviously tightly controlled, was emphatic and brooked no argument.

Doyle noticed a number of empty private rooms along the way. Over in the National Health wing, he thought disgustedly, people had to queue for months, sometimes years, for operations due to a shortage of beds, while in the private wing, rooms were standing empty. At the end of the corridor, they drew up at an office, into which the nurse disappeared. A grey-haired man in a white coat over a neat suit emerged a moment later. "I'm Dr. Pemble, and you are..."

"Bodie, CI5."

The doctor inspected the ID. "Isn't this a little out of your league," he asked shrewdly.

Doyle could see Bodie was only just managing to hold onto his patience. "If we could just speak to Mr. Falkener..."

"I don't think so," the doctor procrastinated. "He's still recovering from surgery." Something in Bodie's expression made him reconsider. "Very well. If you'd like to walk this way."

The doctor led them to a door and asked them to wait outside. A few minutes later, he returned. "Mr. Falkener is willing to see you. I'll be back in five minutes…"

Bodie was about to say something, but the doctor held his hand up to forestall any protestation. "Five minutes and not a second more."

Doyle knew his partner hated being patronised, but if the doctor noticed his annoyance by the thin line of Bodie's mouth, he didn't show it.

Inside the room, their eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom.

Doyle stayed by the door, as Bodie approached the bed.

"Sir," he said, sounding a little uncertain. "I'm Bodie, CI5. That's Doyle, my partner."

Hearing him say that caused an unnamed emotion to wash over Doyle. He quashed it ruthlessly.

"I have a few questions to ask you."

Falkener sighed. "Have you spoken to my wife yet?"

"Yes we have, sir. Do you know why she shot you?"

Doyle thought Bodie was being rather too direct, but he supposed with only five minutes, there was no time to beat about the bush.

Falkener cleared his throat. "Because I told her I was leaving her," he whispered.

"For another man," Bodie added.

"Yes." Such a simple answer, thought Doyle, yet a contrast to the complexity of the situation.

"Do you have a history of domestic violence, sir?" Falkener winced at Bodie's words but before he could reply, the CI5 man added, "I mean, has she ever threatened you in this way before?"

"No. She's always known I'm homosexual." Despite his weakness, Falkener sounded defiant. "Don't bother to ask me why I'm giving up such a prestigious job so I can live with another man. It's none of your business - and I doubt you'd understand." Even from where Doyle was standing, he could see Falkener's eyes flash, and then they seemed to soften, perhaps because he'd been expecting to see contempt on Bodie's face and it hadn't been there. More quietly he continued, "The press tore Jeremy Thorpe apart a few years ago when they discovered his sexual preferences. Ruined his life - he's not been the same since. I'm not going to give those bastards the chance to do that to me. I've been discreet until now, but I love Michael - yes love him," again an air of defiance, "and I'm not going to live a cloak and dagger life any more."

"This might seem like none of my business, but it is pertinent to what's happened. Did you know your wife has had a number of affairs?"

Falkener laughed, but it had a hollow ring. "Oh yes I knew. She practically paraded each one in front of me."

Doyle knew what was coming next and could almost see Bodie bracing himself as he asked, "Did you know about Hargreaves?"

"Hargreaves?" Falkener sounded incredulous. "Tell me this is a joke. My god, not him, anyone but him."

"It's over now. He was told to finish it when he got his promotion to the Defence Ministry. You deciding to leave her was the last straw."

Doyle was shocked to see a single tear drift down Falkener's cheek. "She's never known happiness like I've found with Michael. I'm sorry I've done that to her." Another tear appeared.

Bodie looked distinctly uncomfortable. Doyle watched as his partner started searching for something. Triumphantly, he pulled out a box of hankies from the bedside cabinet and handed one to Falkener.

Falkener smiled at Bodie, took it and blew his nose loudly. "Will you do me a big favour?" At Bodie's nod he continued, "Could you call Michael Todd at the Abu Dhabi Hilton and tell him what's happened - get him to call me here. They won't let me call out unless it's to family - I've told them he is, but they don't understand. He is family to me - more than my wife ever was and I'm willing to do anything to keep him."

"Yeah, I'll do that, no problem. One more question. I have to ask this, I'm sorry."

"Go on," Falkener encouraged with a smile.

"Will you be pressing charges?"

"No. She's been through enough already. If she was convicted and sent to prison, it'd kill her. She has a heart condition, you know."

Doyle was amazed to detect a note of affection in Falkener's voice. As if reading his mind, the MP added, "She's not a bad sort really. I'm just sorry I've never managed to make her happy."

Bodie backed away. "Thanks for your time, sir," he said and joined Doyle at the door.

"Yes, you'd better go," Falkener smiled, "before the rather intimidating Dr. Pemble hauls you out of here bodily."

Bodie smiled. "Like to see him try."

Outside the room, Bodie seemed distracted and before anything concerning Falkener's story could be discussed, he muttered something about needing to go to the toilet and disappeared off. Doyle watched him go feeling certain Bodie was up to something. The male nurse was still around and he had a great idea to really score a few points off Bodie.

By the time his partner returned, Doyle was leaning against a wall chatting to the nurse, his demeanour deliberately open and inviting. He knew Bodie would react badly, yet it came as quite a shock when he stormed over to them in a fury and grabbing him by the arm, almost dragged him into a nearby empty room before slamming the door. It was only out of surprise that he capitulated so easily.

Pushing him against the door, Bodie placed one hand either side of his head and leant forward so that their faces were only inches apart.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, getting chatted up by some pansy," Bodie hissed, his voice low enough not to be overheard by anyone outside the room.

"You don't own me," he spat back. "You made it perfectly clear where I stand with you."

Bodie didn't answer, instead placing one leg between his, Bodie grabbed his face and pulled him into a bruising kiss. At first he kept his lips passive, but the sensations were too great to ignore and after a moment, he locked his hands behind Bodie's back and, pulling him into a bear-hug, kissed him back. Eventually the demand for air became overwhelming and panting, he pushed Bodie away roughly. Their eyes locked as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth in a futile attempt to erase all evidence of the kiss.

Doyle was furious with himself. Dear God, why did he let him do that? Instead, he should have kicked him in the bollocks, which is no more than the bastard deserved. Perhaps if he kept Bodie at a distance, it'd help keep temptation at bay. And that, he suddenly realised in a flash of intuition, was the crux of the matter. He wanted Bodie with all his heart and all his body and any overture from the object of his desires was apparently beyond his ability to turn away. In the face of such weakness, he was grateful that at least his partner had the decency not to look smug at his minor victory. The way he was feeling now, he'd have belted him if he had.

"What do you want from me, Bodie?"

Confusion showed on his face. "I...I don't know," Bodie said, looking at the floor. Then, meeting Doyle's eyes, he added more vehemently, "I don't want my partner letting himself get chatted up by queers."

Doyle relaxed against the door. "Ah, so that's your problem, " he said quietly, like Bodie, wishing to keep their conversation private. His tone was neither patronising nor accusatory. "Nothing must tarnish that macho image you've got of us. We're tough an' strong, we carry guns, we drive fast cars and fuck women..." He was deliberately crude so that his next words would sting all the harder, "...but definitely not blokes - at least, no-one except each other, 'cos that's apparently OK in your book. You know neither of us is queer," he sneered. He stood up straight, pushing away from the wall so that his posture matched his partner's.

Bodie's expression was implacable, nostrils flaring, his mouth a thin line. Doyle could see that his partner's anger brought on by his words was being carefully banked as he remained steadfastly silent.

"How do you rationalise that one, Bodie? Keep it in the family - it doesn't really mean anything then? Face it, mate, it's a fallacy and you're not deceiving anyone but yourself."

Bodie answered in a harsh whisper. "You're right, I'm not a fucking poof and neither are you. We both like women."

Pushing past Bodie, he suddenly felt very weary and sat down on the edge of the bed. He waited then until Bodie turned to face him - it was important to see his face, to be able to read the expressions that his words produced. "Do you think it's usual to want to have sex..." the memory of Bodie's touch suddenly flooded his mind, his heart quickening as his body remembered too; deliberately, he changed his words, "...to make love to someone of your own gender? You've got to accept that if we're attracted to each other, we must at least be bi-sexual..."

"No! I'm not into sex with men," Bodie blurted, seemingly without thought. His contradiction held no real conviction.

"Just with me, is that it?" Doyle actually smiled. Maybe the situation could be salvaged after all. For the sake of their partnership, if nothing else, it was worth giving it a try. "Listen, you mixed-up prat; you've got to face up to it and decide what you want from me."

"I don't know what I want, Ray." As he said these words, his face seemed to crumple, giving him an appearance of vulnerability and helplessness that Doyle had rarely seen.

Doyle couldn't help himself and rose from the bed to close the distance between them, real and metaphorical. Two steps and he was there, wrapping his arms around his partner in a gesture of comfort and solidarity.

Bodie hugged him back, holding him until a lush sniff made his partner pull back to examine his face. He knew his eyes were definitely moist, since Bodie's face was slightly blurred.

"Christ, what are we doing to each other?" Bodie asked, the question a rhetorical one.

They held onto each other for a few moments before Doyle, conscious that the nurse was probably still standing outside, pulled away slightly. "Listen, we're through here. Let's head back to London and some privacy. We can sort things out there."

"Yeah."

Doyle started to pull away from the embrace.

"Ray…" Bodie pulled him back and kissed him thoroughly.

Reluctantly they parted before arousal could overtake them, though Doyle noted with some satisfaction that Bodie's normally pale face was looking decidedly flushed, his lips kiss-swollen - he had done that to him.

As they exited the room they found the nurse still hovering, a worried look on his face. Doyle turned to him with a smile. "Thanks for your help mate." The nurse had assisted in more ways than he realised and Doyle sincerely acknowledged that. "Time to get back to the Old Smoke. Ta-ta."

"See you around," the nurse replied, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Yeah, maybe," the tone was non-committal. Unconsciously falling into step, the two CI5 men headed for the main exit.

Doyle insisted upon doing his fair share of the driving and wasn't surprised when his partner gave in without demur. Neither of them had slept much the previous night and Bodie had been at the wheel for the two and a half hour drive up to Little Malden. No doubt the strained silence of the journey had also taken its toll on him.

"What's that?" asked Bodie as Doyle climbed in beside him, clutching a piece of paper that had been wedged beneath the wiper.

Doyle grinned and passed it over. "A note from an irate consultant whose space you nicked. Tough titty, we got there first!" For the moment, it seemed, a tacit truce was in operation, but Doyle was under no illusions as to its temporary nature, knowing there was much to discuss.

Bodie gave the crumpled paper a cursory glance. "Don't know about you, mate," he said, automatically glancing over his shoulder as Doyle backed the car out, "but I'm in dire need of some nosh."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "You would be. Well, I've never been round this neck of the woods; any suggestions?"

"I do, as it happens. Nice little transport cafe about ten miles from here."

"Transport cafe? What you trying to do? Poison me?"

"Yeah, greasy eggs, fatty sausages and fried bread. Lovely. Turn left onto the main road."

Doyle drove on, with Bodie's confirmation of his worst fears failing to give his appetite a quick start.

Bodie broke the silence: "Shame we couldn't get him to press charges against his wife for attempted manslaughter," he announced.

"Yeah, Cowley'll be pleased with you." With that, silence returned.

Doyle was pleased to discover he needn't have worried about the cafe. Although it provided the usual fry-ups, they had a good menu which left him spoilt for choice.

No sooner had they sat down, than the waitress came bouncing over, a beaming smile on her face.

"Bodie, you bugger!" she grinned.

Both men shifted uncomfortably at the remark, but didn't allow anything to show on their faces.

"Where did you disappear to then?" she continued. "I thought you had another couple of years on the squadron."

"I did, but I got offered a better job," he smiled. "It's a bit hush-hush, though. This is my partner, Ray Doyle; Ray, meet Sue."

Doyle smiled weakly at her. He wasn't in the mood to chat to one of Bodie's exes and the thought made him wonder just how many of them there were. Bodie had always had a fast turnover of birds - much more so than he did. Often, Doyle had barely got to know a name and she was gone - that thought in itself was unsettling. Was Bodie totally incapable of holding down a long-term relationship?

Doyle tried to imagine what he'd do if Bodie's only agreement to a continuation of their affair was if he could still have girlfriends. The very thought caused a coil of jealousy to gnaw at his stomach. The idea that Bodie could turn down a night together so he could shag some bird was totally and utterly unacceptable. No way would he ever share Bodie, he promised himself. It was going to have to be all - or nothing.

He was brought back to the present as Sue was waving a finger in front of Bodie's face. "I wanted to kill you for taking off like that, without a by-your-leave. Of course, none of the other lads would tell me anything, and neither would dad. Never mind, I'm married to Rob now." She flashed two impressive-looking rings at Bodie.

"Congratulations, Sue," he said with obviously genuine affection. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't tell anyone what I was doing. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know. Your loss," she smiled sweetly. "So, what can I get you two to eat?"

The order taken, Doyle threw an enquiring look at his partner. Just how close had they been for Bodie to have revealed so much about his background?

"Her dad's a Major on the squadron - he split up with his wife years ago and she opened this cafe. It's a regular eating place for the lads when they've had enough of mess food. Sue's got security clearance, which is why I told her a bit more than I usually would."

"I did wonder," murmured Doyle.

Both men were subdued during the meal, saying little.

Doyle continued the drive to London, leaving Bodie to slouch in the passenger seat, where he quickly fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Approaching London, they passed queues of traffic waiting to leave the city for the day and not for the first time, Doyle wondered how so many people could put up with that kind of lifestyle. It didn't occur to him that far fewer still would have been happy with his.

After turning off the motorway, the first traffic signal he arrived at was red. As he waited for it to change, he looked at his partner properly for the first time since leaving the small café. Fast asleep beside him, his face peaceful in repose, Bodie looked as though he didn't have a care in the world. Doyle felt a rising resentment that Bodie obviously didn't have much on his mind if he could sleep like that. His own mind had been in turmoil throughout the journey - the half-empty motorway allowing him to drive on autopilot. Not that he'd got anywhere - one half of the equation had been missing from his thoughts and trying to second-guess his partner was something he'd long since given up trying to do.

Instead of trying to think ahead, Doyle spent the remainder of the journey looking back over that day. He winced at the memory of Bodie back in that hospital, forcing himself on him like a scene out of some crap B movie. How dare Bodie treat him like that? How dare he take advantage of him in a moment of weakness? Well, there weren't going to be any more of those, he resolved. He was going to fight fire with fire.

Doyle's mood, by the time they arrived at HQ, could best be described as gently seething. With an abrupt jolt, he woke up his sleeping partner and slamming the car door, stalked off leaving a bemused-looking Bodie still sitting in the car.

Doyle went straight to the rest room, which he found almost empty. Anson, on a chair in the corner, gave all outward signs of being asleep, while Pendleton, who was lounging on the sofa, glanced up momentarily as he entered, then turned back to a book he was reading. Lewis had just boiled the kettle, so he poured himself a coffee, and then began to complain that the day had been a complete waste of time as Falkener was refusing to press charges against his wife.

Bodie entered, and looked pointedly at Doyle's coffee mug.

"Yes please," Bodie said with a smile, a hopeful tone to his voice.

"Make it yourself, you lazy git," Doyle snarled.

Bodie swiped the last clean mug and put in a spoonful of instant coffee, before lifting the kettle lid to check the water level.

"The Old Man's not going to be happy unless he gets a conviction," Lewis remarked, loftily ignoring the by-play between the two men. "No chance Falkener could be pressured?"

"Why don't you ask Bodie," suggested Doyle, jerking a thumb in his partner's direction. "He's the one who talked to him. A total bloody waste of time, today was." More quietly he added, "And right now, I can think of a hundred people I'd rather have spent the day with."

Lewis was close enough to overhear the remark. "Crikey Doyle, you've not been back that long. Honeymoon over, is it?"

The comment caused Bodie to spurt a mouthful of coffee partly over a disgusted Lewis as Doyle stormed out of the room after suggesting a resting place for Lewis' head which was anatomically impossible to achieve.

"What the fuck was that for?" Lewis demanded.

"Don't ask," said Bodie as he took off after his partner.

Doyle was staring out of the window when Bodie stormed into the empty office he had taken refuge in. He waited for the door to slam and felt surprised when it quietly clicked closed. Not wanting to face Bodie just yet, he kept his back to his partner, very well aware that Bodie had finally lost his fight to keep his temper.

"Oh very clever, Doyle," Bodie's voice dripped sarcasm. "Why don't you go and shout your problem from the fucking roof? Christ, you can be a stupid cunt at times."

Doyle remained resolutely silent, tension seemingly emanating from every fibre of his being. Behind him, Bodie had gone very quiet. He hadn't heard any movement, but suddenly Bodie's arms were coming around him. Doyle moved so suddenly, throwing his arms into the air in his bid to evade his partner, that Bodie was very nearly thrown off-balance.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" hissed Doyle.

"OK, OK," said Bodie, holding up his hands, palms outwards, in an obvious effort to placate him. "I can't deal with this, Ray. It's like being on a roller coaster with you - one minute you're up, the next you're down. I don't know what's got into you this evening, but since you're treating me only marginally better than something you've stepped on in the street, I assume - even though I honestly haven't got a clue what it is - that it's something I've done."

Doyle visibly forced himself to relax, fists uncurling, shoulders dropping, taking long, deep breaths. "That's the whole point Bodie," he said, finally. "You've got no idea what you're doin' an' what it's doin' to me."

Bodie's face wore a look of blank incomprehension. "What I'm doing? I'm not doing anything. All I did this afternoon was sleep and when I woke up, you were treating me as though I'd screwed your maiden aunt and then run off with the family silver."

Doyle shook his head. "We're goin' to have to sort this bloody mess out and the sooner the better." He ignored Bodie's pained expression. "Tonight," he decided and then added, almost as though it was an afterthought "…at my place."

"Okay," Bodie agreed with little enthusiasm.

"An' one other thing," said Doyle, his hands curling unconsciously into fists, "don't lay one finger on me, or I swear I'll shove your teeth down your throat." Bodie looked visibly taken aback by the viciousness to his voice.

Doyle forced himself to behave normally. "The sooner we get this report done, the sooner we can get out of here," he pointed out as he walked towards the door. "I'll go an' get the paperwork."

"What?" Bodie asked. He seemed to be experiencing difficulty keeping up with his mercurial moods.

"Our report?" Doyle enunciated both words slowly as he pointed at a typewriter.

Doyle ended up typing it while Bodie contacted Michael Todd to tell him of Falkener's shooting. Doyle could see Bodie wasn't enjoying the conversation he was having with the airline steward and at any other time, he'd be offering sympathetic looks by now. But not today.

Meanwhile, the report didn't take as long as he'd expected. In fact, as far as the case was concerned, not that much had happened that day. Nothing at all, compared to the personal drama they were still enacting.

The report completed, they headed in separate cars for Doyle's flat, where it had all begun. It was showdown time.

Doyle was already lounging on the sofa, beer in hand, by the time Bodie got back from finding the only other parking space to be had in a half-mile radius of Doyle's apartment block.

"Bloody hell, I hope I don't ever get this place," he remarked, throwing his jacket onto a chair and ducking into the kitchen. "Parking's a nightmare."

When Bodie returned and slumped into an armchair, Doyle noticed absently that he'd removed his holster.

"What?" asked Bodie, at the odd look.

"Nothin'," said Doyle and carefully placed the can on the floor, where it wouldn't be kicked over. He leant back, stretching his arm out along the top of the sofa, looking more casual than he felt.

"So," he began, "where do we go from here?" He could see Bodie trying not to squirm. "Well?" he prompted, when no answer was immediately forthcoming.

"Why are you asking me?" Bodie demanded.

Doyle leant forward, as if for emphasis. "You already know what I want, Bodie. I want to know what you're prepared to give."

Doyle watched dispassionately as Bodie swallowed hard.

"I dunno," he said and took a swig of beer.

"Oh very articulate Bodie. 'I dunno'. Come on!" He jumped up from the sofa and began to pace. "Tell me, when you came onto me last night….Christ was it only last night?…What did you want out of it? Just a quick fuck? Was that it? 'Thanks for lettin' me satisfy my curiosity, Ray'?"

Bodie had the grace to look embarrassed, which angered Doyle further.

"Tell me Bodie! What was it all about?"

Bodie shook his head. Shrugging, he stared intently at Doyle's feet as he answered. "S'pose I was curious. I couldn't have done anything like that with anyone else. I trust you - you know that. Feel close to you - we've been good mates, specially since you got shot. S'pose all that stuff we were listening to yesterday made me want to have a go. Oh god, I don't know. It just…well, you know…it just happened."

Doyle stood, hands on hips, in front of his partner. When it was obvious Bodie wasn't going to say any more, he asked, "I want to know what's goin' to happen to us. You reckon we're not queer, and I say we are - or at least bi."

Doyle watched as Bodie scooted to the edge of the armchair and finally met his defiant gaze. "Christ Ray! Why are you suddenly so desperate to associate yourself with that limp-wristed mob?"

"Don't say it!" shouted Doyle, stabbing his finger in the direction of his partner. "Don't fuckin' say that! What's with you and these stupid stereotypes? We haven't changed. We're still us. It's just that there's somethin' more between us than before. I want us to carry on as lovers…"

Bodie was about to say something, but Doyle stopped him. "Yes, lovers Bodie. Whatever you want to pretend it is between us, is your problem."

Abruptly standing up, Bodie walked over to the window and stared out, but said nothing.

Doyle gave up waiting. "I'll admit I want somethin' lastin' from this," he said. "You've shown me what we could have…what we could be together. I want more than we had, but I won't accept a relationship that's less than exclusive - I never have from my girlfriends, I don't see why it should be any different with you."

Bodie spun round, his face twisted in anger. "I'm not one of your fucking birds."

"No, you're not." Doyle's voice was calm. "You mean much more to me than any of them ever have."

Bodie looked incredulous. "Even Ann?" he blurted.

The memory of Ann was still painful, yet when he compared what he had had with her to what he and Bodie had going for them, there really was no competition. "Yeah," he replied eventually.

Bodie seemed to relax a little at this confession.

"It never would have worked out." Doyle had never admitted that before, even to himself. It had given him the excuse to wallow in self-pity from time to time, when things were getting him down. "Surely you must know we've got a hundred times more in common than I ever had with her. We've been practically living in each other's pockets for months. Christ, I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you convincin' me that I could get fit enough to get back onto the squad after I was shot. I was ready to give it up - even Cowley had his doubts." More quietly, he added, "I thought you did too, at first."

"Jesus, Ray, I don't know what I want." Bodie looked truly miserable. "I know I want you…sexually," he admitted. "But I don't know if I could change my life that much. I mean, living the rest of my life with another bloke? Even though it's you we're talking about, I don't think I could do it. The thought of giving up birds…"

He gave Doyle a look of complete helplessness, but his partner remained silent. Bodie's face hardened. "But if I don't agree to…to…what amounts to a marriage, I'm going to lose you, aren't I?"

"Probably."

The simple, yet honest reply seemed to make something snap inside Bodie. "You bastard. You fucking bastard."

Doyle crossed his arms and watched him unfazed. He remained silent.

"You're not turning me into some kind of nancy boy. Where's it going to end? Eh? Tell me that, Doyle? You want to tell Cowley. I suppose you'll want us to share a flat too. So, what do we tell everyone? The rest of the squad? Our families? Our friends? What are you going to tell your mother? 'Oh mum, I've found someone to share the rest of my life with…but don't expect any grandkids, 'cos it's a bloke I'm going to be shacking up with.'"

"Oh for fuck's sake Bodie!" Doyle finally broke his silence. "Don't be so melodramatic. You should hear yourself! Christ, you sound worse than a bleedin' woman!"

Bodie lunged forward so quickly, he caught Doyle unawares and knocked him off his feet. Doyle rolled away, but the manoeuvre was ineffective as he was stopped by the sofa. Bodie managed to hit him squarely on the jaw before his self-defence kicked in. While Bodie had weight, he had agility.

It was when Doyle kneed him in the groin - and not as hard as he could have - that Bodie lost any advantage. In a fluid movement, he had Bodie pinned face down to the floor, his arm twisted very painfully behind him as he straddled him.

"Advantage Doyle," he pronounced, without humour.

"Fucking bastard," Bodie groaned, still in obvius pain.

Doyle wriggled. "Pity we've got clothes on Bodie. This'd be a good position to fuck you from. Yeah, now that's somethin' that would really get me going: knowin' how powerful you are as I fuck the livin' daylights out of you." Doyle was enjoying this game and so was his cock which was becoming uncomfortable in his tight jeans. "I'm hard for you now, Bodie. Tell you what, why don't you let me fuck you and we'll talk about all this later."

Underneath him, Bodie went absolutely rigid. Doyle stopped talking and the silence between them became a chasm. Like an echo, his words returned to him, forming an intuitive bridge of understanding that he could step across.

"Got a problem?" Doyle asked, already knowing what it was. He knew better than to loosen his hold on Bodie, though. "Let me guess. By your rules, it'd be all right to fuck me. That way you get to stay a real man," he sneered. "But you…if I fuck you, you're afraid of becomin' emasculated. It'd be like becomin' a woman - weak and dominated."

Doyle's hold wasn't enough to contain the whirlwind that was Bodie. In a moment he was thrown flat on his back and winded. As he sat up, gasping for air, Bodie was already at the door, running out of the room and out of the flat.

And out of my life? Doyle wondered, feeling empty inside. What the hell had gone so wrong between them?

 

Doyle was lying in the foetal position in bed, no nearer sleep than he had been when he'd wearily climbed in two hours previously. The sound of his front door closing had him sitting bolt upright. There was only one person who had the key to his flat. His heart hammered in his chest; Bodie had returned. Maybe if he could keep his trap shut, he'd stay. God, he wanted Bodie to stay.

He heard the bedroom door open and could just barely make out the outline of Bodie as he entered the room. Doyle was afraid to speak, so he just sat there in the almost darkness.

The end of the bed dipped as Bodie sat down. The unmistakable sound of clothes coming off, one shoe, then another, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud. The bed lifted as Bodie stood up and Doyle felt the air on him as the duvet was lifted. A moment later he was surrounded by Bodie, his strong arms engulfing him, pulling him down towards the bed in the sweetest of embraces. And the softest of touches as lips met lips in a kiss so tender he thought his heart would explode.

Their kiss deepened as sexual arousal swiftly engulfed both men. Once their passion had been unleashed, neither had the strength nor the inclination to stop.

Their bodies were pressed together, legs intertwined, their cocks trapped between them. It wasn't enough. Doyle rolled himself onto Bodie and the extra pressure brought greater stimulation as they undulated together. The feel of his cock rubbing against Bodie's coarse pubic hair was wonderful. Their kiss continued unabated as their tongues sought to discover new areas of sensitivity. Having the upper hand from his position, he pulled away to place kisses over Bodie's clean-shaven face, down his neck and up to his earlobe.

A gasp.

Doyle sucked with greater vigour, making Bodie buck satisfyingly beneath him. Bodie shoved a hand between them and with unerring accuracy, took hold of his left nipple and began to pull on it, rolling it between forefinger and thumb.

Another gasp - this time from Doyle, who was now pushing urgently against Bodie.

"Gonna come," he whispered into Bodie's ear. His partner pulled harder on the nipple sending shockwaves to his groin, while managing to maintain his rhythm. Three grunts and he was gushing hot semen between them.

"Ray," Bodie called thickly, as he too quickly followed over the edge.

They lay still in a sweaty pile, their chests heaving.

"Needed that."

"Me too," agreed Doyle. "How did you know…?"

"On an obbo once you told me you had really sensitive nipples. Didn't know I'd be finding that snippet so useful," Bodie grinned. "I take it I told you about me ears?"

Doyle chuckled. "Yeah. Can't remember when though. Hang on, I'll get my teeshirt to clean us up."

As Doyle rolled off to fish on the floor for his discarded clothes, he experienced the feel of cold air on his damp and sticky stomach. If they were destined to continue this relationship, it was something he was going to have to get used to.

The job done, Doyle lay on his side, facing Bodie who was staring at the ceiling. Under the duvet, he took Bodie's hand and with his free hand ran his fingertips over Bodie's face, mapping it, following the quirky eyebrow.

"When you ran out tonight, I realised I'd pushed you too far. I honestly didn't think I'd see you again - thought I'd ballsed it all up. Knew you must've felt bad, 'cos you left your gun here. After you'd left, had nothin' to do but think. Began to realise what we had and what I'd be missin’."

"Yeah, know what you mean. I drove around for a while, then went home. All I could think about was you. I thought about last night - us, together. It seemed right, but wrong, if you get my drift."

"Think so. Don't think I've got the same hang-ups you have, which is funny, 'cos it was you came onto me."

Bodie's fingers carded through the hair on Doyle's chest. "I can't believe I actually got the guts up to do it. Been thinking about doing that for a while - since Nicole. Wanted to do it right there and then, but I thought you'd deck me. Needed to find out whether you'd be interested. God Ray, I don't want to lose you…"

He leant forward and kissed Doyle - the kiss at once deep and urgent. Much as Doyle was enjoying it, he exerted a gentle pressure on Bodie's chest until he felt him reluctantly pull away.

"I hate to stop this, but we've got to sort ourselves out now or we’re gonna destroy each other."

"Yeah, I know," Bodie agreed. "I'll tell you what I've been thinking about. First off, you want a long-term relationship. All day I've been resenting you for wanting that. Couldn't understand why you couldn't just keep it light - just get together now and then, when we're between birds. But tonight I realised that I was just kidding meself. Knew I'd want you more often than that. As for forgetting all about this - I know I couldn't just go back to being partners now."

Doyle was absolutely still, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it did…

"Trouble is," Bodie continued, "you want it exclusive. Got to be honest Ray, I'm not sure I can promise you that." Bodie moved and a moment later Doyle felt soft lips caressing his. "I could just say yes now, and then let you down. Don't want to do that."

Doyle let out the breath he'd been holding. At least Bodie was being completely honest, so he could do no less.

"I've thought about it too an' I know I'm askin' a lot from you - if we stand any chance of workin' all this out, then I suppose I have to compromise too. If you want to sleep with some bird, will you tell me first? Don't do it as a spur-of-the-moment thing - dunno why, but that matters to me. Don't want to find meself plannin' a nice cosy evenin' with you an' findin' out you're goin' out an' sleepin' with some bird you don't even care about. Could you at least promise me that?"

"But what about you Ray? How can you be so sure it won't be you? We're both creatures of habit - with a faster turnover of birds than most blokes. Don’t reckon settling down's going to be easy for either of us. I've not been turned on by a bloke since Africa. What about you?"

"Tom, me mate at college managed to get me going once, but I don't really count that, 'cos I was just experimentin'. So I suppose you're the first."

"So, neither of us is really bent," Bodie concluded. Before Doyle could point the obvious, he added, "Yeah, I know, we're obviously not totally straight either - but I think despite what we mean to each other, we're going to miss birds."

Doyle ran his hand through Bodie's short-cropped hair as he considered his words. What Bodie was saying, made sense, even if he didn't like the idea of Bodie going off with girls. Perhaps it was just insecurity because their sexual relationship was so new. Maybe, with time, he'd feel more comfortable about it - would feel he could place more trust in Bodie or feel less likely that he might lose Bodie to some woman. And if he was absolutely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that even that day, he himself had noticed a number of women. It was automatic to look at them, assess them and their desirability - as natural to him as breathing. So, all that had happened between him and Bodie hadn't changed that. The difference now was that he wasn't particularly inclined to take up any offers.

"Yeah, I suppose you might be right," he said finally.

"There is another thing…" Bodie added. Doyle didn't miss the note of trepidation.

"And that is…?" he asked warily.

"The lads. We might have to be seen dating birds occasionally just to keep them off our backs."

"It's none of their fuckin' business," Doyle replied, annoyed.

"Yeah, well that's as may be. But unless you're prepared to be the subject of a lot of gossip, which could go further, we need to be seen with birds occasionally."

Doyle was silent while he thought about Bodie's words and whilst he had to agree with his partner, he didn't like it.

"Look, we could always make sure it's a double date, and just a one-night stand," Bodie added. "Maybe not even go that far if you're not up to it?"

Doyle let out a long sigh. If Bodie was going to compromise, he knew he had to too. "All right. But it better not be often."

"There are some birds who like doing it with blokes who turn on to each other…"

"No!" Doyle was emphatic, pulling out of their loose embrace. "What we have and what we do together isn't somethin' I'm puttin' on display for some birds who're gonna get turned on by it. No way, Bodie."

"Just a suggestion," Bodie said, the pout in his voice quite clear.

"Sorry, Bodie," he said and kissed his lover gently. "Didn't mean to get narked. 'S just what we have is special. Don't want to start paradin' it around."

"Yeah, you're right," Bodie conceded.

"So, back to the original point. I'll promise to let you know if I fancy a bird, if you do too."

"OK. I promise." There was a smile in Bodie's voice as he said those words.

"One thing though," Doyle added.

"What?"

"No other blokes. An' don't ask me to change me mind about that." There was steel in his voice.

"You've got my word on it, Ray. Same goes for you."

"How could I want another bloke when I've got you?" Doyle smiled.

"Mean it Ray. Don't even flirt with another bloke."

Doyle was surprised at Bodie's tone and at his possessiveness. But then again, his partner had had to endure him flirting with that nurse that day, so he'd already experienced what it felt like to watch helplessly. It probably explained the definite threat in Bodie's voice - it brooked no argument. None. He knew his partner could be unpredictable on occasion, his temper volatile. And in this matter, he recognised Bodie would be utterly uncompromising. Which was fine, because he felt the same way.

"OK."

Intent on his own words and thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Bodie had tensed until, with his agreement to the terms, he felt Bodie relax. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss on his lover's lips, but drew back before it went any further. The temptation was enormous, but he was determined they weren't going to bury their problems in sex. There was too much unresolved and it would only be worse later.

"Cowley."

Bodie sighed audibly. "You want to tell him; I don't think we should."

"If he found out, he'd skin us alive. He's got the power to stop us ever working again. He trusts us. We need to show him he's right to…"

"That's it!" said Bodie excitedly.

"Eh?" Doyle was wondering if he was more tired than he realised. What had he missed?

"We won't tell him, we'll show him." He said the words as if it was obvious.

Doyle pulled away and pushed himself up on one elbow. "What the bleedin' 'ell are you on about?"

Bodie sighed. "You've got a short memory, Doyle. Remember yesterday in the buggy-boo? I told you about how it's done in the military? We don't have to come out and say we're screwing each other. We just sort of…er…well, show him in some way, so he gets the message. That way, if there's ever a problem in the future, he can honestly deny that we ever told him about it."

"Show him? What've you got in mind? A snoggin' session in front of him in his office, or somethin'?" Doyle sounded genuinely outraged. "No. Told you just now, I'm not paradin' it around."

"Silly sod. Nothing like that! D'you think I want to give the Old Man a bloody heart attack?"

Doyle relaxed. "So, what could we do then?"

"Dunno. It'd have to be something pretty tame, but wouldn't leave him in any doubt. It's the best way, trust me on this." He emphasised the point with a kiss which grew deeper. This time it was Bodie who pulled away first. "Let me give it some thought," Bodie suggested.

"You're a daft bugger!" smiled Doyle.

"Which brings us to the next point," said Bodie.

Doyle was finding it difficult to keep up with him. "What does?" he asked, exasperated. He felt exhausted and lay back down.

"Buggery. 'S why I left in such a hurry tonight." There was a sheepish tone in his voice.

"We don't have to, you know. It's not compulsory. Tom once told me not all queers do it."

"Trouble is, I know I want to fuck you, and it wouldn't be fair if I don't let you do me too. Right?"

Doyle couldn't deny he didn't want to. "Suppose so. Still, we can wait and get you used to the idea. Take one step at a time." He smiled. "'M sure we can think of plenty of things to keep us amused meanwhile."

"But I do want you to. That's why I ran out." Bodie's hand ran up his arm against the hair, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "When you were telling me tonight you wanted to fuck me, I got a hard-on at the thought of it," Bodie admitted. "I remember watching you fuck Nicole and I know I want you to do that to me. But it's getting my head around it all. You were right about me. One part of me wants it, but the other part's telling me I shouldn't want to - it's not natural."

"It's natural to us Bodie," Doyle said gently.

"Yeah, I know, but it's just…I dunno, weird. Think it's from when I was in the Merchant Navy - I was still a kid, and pretty impressionable. Can't help thinking of queers as being limp-wristed and effeminate, like half the sailors on my ship. Most of us were there because we were running away from something - the queers were running away from their families so they wouldn't be around to be pressured into marrying."

Doyle wondered what his partner had been running away from and before he realised it, he'd asked.

Beside him, Bodie tensed. "A lot of things," he said finally. "Me dad, mostly, and me brother's death." There was a long pause, during which time Doyle held his breath. He felt Bodie take his hand and grip it tightly.

Bodie's voice almost a whisper, the words tumbled out into the darkness. "Me an' Sean were supposed to go over to Ireland to spend summer with family there. Dad caught me having it off with one of our neighbours' daughters and beat me up so badly I was hospitalised. Sean went on his own and two days after he got there, went and got himself caught in the crossfire of some sectarian killing. Soon as I was out of hospital, I lied about me age and joined the merchant navy."

Doyle hugged him fiercely. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Why are you sorry?" Bodie sounded genuinely puzzled.

"That you had such a bad time. That I made you tell me…"

Bodie's finger touched his lips. "Told you 'cos I wanted to. And don't think there won't be payback time. You've not told me much about your childhood," Bodie reminded him, a smile in his voice. "Now where was I? Oh yeah, the queers on the ship. They were always coming on to me - I was a challenge.”

Doyle chuckled. “Jail bait. Bet you were a good-lookin' kid. Can’t say as I blame ‘em.”

“What do you mean were? Still am good-looking."

"Course you are," agreed Doyle. "How can I forget when you're always remindin' me?"

Bodie laughed. "At least none of the blokes in my sleeping quarters were bent. Don't think I'd've kept my virginity if any of 'em had been. The skipper knew what he was about when he assigned quarters. But during the day, I sometimes had to lock meself in the head for hours at a time when one of them felt like a challenge. I remember feeling afraid they'd get me and turn me into one of them."

"You can't turn into something like that, you either are or you aren't."

"Yeah, I know. But even now, it still gives me the willies."

Doyle started to snigger and Bodie, realising what he'd just said, joined in.

"Tell you what, you give me your willy," said Doyle and with unerring accuracy, grabbed Bodie's cock. "It still feels strange…"

"Does not! That's a perfect specimen, that is," interrupted Bodie, trying to sound affronted.

"Berk!" laughed Doyle. "Nah, I mean doin' this - you lettin' me touch you like this…" he felt Bodie's cock hardening, "I mean, you. Not just any bloke. You, Bodie. Christ it turns me on just thinkin' about it. An' knowin' you've never really done anythin' like this before. Those blokes in Africa - you only took from them, you never gave any of yourself. Knowin' I'm the first makes me feel…special."

"I feel the same way about you, you know. It's like it's hard to believe we're here doing this. It feels….right. I like the thought that you're as strong as me - that you're powerful and hard. And like just now, that sex was fantastic - what we both needed. I'd never do that to a bird - never known one well enough to. We know each other so well, I know you're not going to get the hump if I skip the foreplay, or I don't let you come first, or I'm a bit inconsiderate. Chances are, like tonight, you're feeling the same anyway. We don't have to put on any act."

"You're not going to turn into some wailing queen because of what we do together," reassured Doyle.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe because there's nothing effeminate about you…oh, you might look soft to the untrained eye…"

"Watch it!" warned Doyle, though his amusement was plain to hear.

"…but I know what you're capable of - I know with you around I'm not going to get a lisp and start mincing around."

"You ever act like that, an' I'll belt you!" This time, Doyle meant it. "Mind you, can't imagine you ever turning poncy."

Bodie chuckled, and ran a hand over Doyle's cheek and up into his hairline, carding his wild curls.

"You're beautiful and dangerous," Bodie whispered to him, the idea seeming to excite Bodie, "and…you're mine." And then Bodie leant over and kissed him. Doyle embraced him - a man's embrace, with a man's strength.

The kiss had none of the earlier urgency about it. Slow and languorous, he worked Bodie's lips, touching, nibbling, licking. The presence of stubble was still slightly disconcerting, but not bothersome. The faint smell of Bodie's familiar after-shave added to the masculine feel. No lipstick or heavy make-up, no softness. He found he liked the contrast. Liked the feeling of strength and equality; the sensation of touching a body so like his own; knowing so much more precisely what would arouse that body. The hand that held his cock so expertly reminded him that Bodie had the same advantage. Few women knew exactly how to grip it, how much pressure to apply, what was sensitive and what was uncomfortable. Another hand cupped his balls, rolling them - at least he'd never worry about Bodie's fingernails. Some of his girlfriends had unintentionally made his eyes water. He felt complete openness and trust with Bodie, in a way he realised he never had with a woman and sensed it was reciprocated.

Bodie took hold of his cock, which was already weeping pre-cum. Doyle immediately thrust into his fist and gasped as Bodie ran a thumb over the head, spreading the viscous liquid so that it could act as a lubricant. The action caused a shudder of pleasure to rack his body.

"Like that, do you?" Bodie asked, his voice husky.

"Hmm."

Breaking away from the kiss, Bodie began a slow progression down his body, beginning with the tender skin of his neck. At the base of his throat, he paused, explaining with a chuckle, "Not used to a hairy chest." Leaning down again, Bodie fastened his lips about his flat nipple and sucked vigorously. The sensations produced were so strong and erotic, Doyle bucked wildly, nearly throwing Bodie off. Administering to the other nipple elicited a similar reaction. Doyle held Bodie's head in place, as each swipe of his lover's tongue across his sensitive nipple sent a wave of sensation that centred in his groin, making his cock grow impossibly harder. An involuntary groan escaped Doyle.

"Fancy a spot of sixty-nining?" Bodie asked, his tongue idly flicking at the small nub. "Since we both seem to be talented in that area," he added.

"Sounds good," agreed Doyle.

"Right, well I'll lie down. I want you to kneel over me, 'cos I'm gonna make you come so hard you won't know what's hit you," Bodie promised.

Stradling Bodie, Doyle took his partner's cock in his right hand and pulled it away from where it was lying flat on his stomach. He inhaled deeply, revelling in the musky aroma, before guiding Bodie's cock to his mouth. The pre-cum tasted bitter but not unpleasant and with a swirl of his tongue, he cleaned it away. He felt a shudder pass through Bodie body. He began to suck enthusiastically and found himself having to lean on his lover's hips, to prevent being choked. It was obvious he was doing an effective job, since Bodie had yet to start on him.

"Jesus, Ray!" Bodie called out hoarsely, grabbing handfuls of sheet.

"'S bit one-sided this, innit?" Doyle pointed out.

"Was concentrating on what your gorgeous mouth was doing to me," Bodie explained.

Doyle felt Bodie guide his hips down and suddenly he found it hard to concentrate when the most fabulous mouth he'd ever had his cock in was weaving the most fantastic and pleasurable sensations he could ever remember experiencing. All the while, he regretted that the room was too dark to see anything more than the outline of their bodies.

A small buck of Bodie's hips was enough of a hint to get Doyle to continue sucking.

Doyle felt Bodie take hold of his balls very carefully, and roll them in rhythm with his sucking, causing a lush moan to escape him. Bodie let his cock go from his mouth, but continued to work it with his hand. Sucking first one then the other testicle into his mouth, Bodie was pushing him closer to the edge. Pulling his hips down slightly, Bodie's tongue travelled along the length of his perineum and swirled around his arse.

"Christ! That's fucking wonderful!" Doyle's voice was almost a whimper. "'M gonna come in a minute…"

Doyle felt Bodie slowly insert a finger into him, making him go absolutely still as he assessed whether he liked the sensation or not. Bodie pushed him up slightly, and capturing his rock-hard cock, sucked as he slowly pushed his finger further in. He could feel Bodie moving his finger around and quelled a need to squirm and then suddenly Bodie touched a place causing a sensation so intense, he yelled out. It was probably only Bodie's strong grip on his hips which prevented him from choking his lover.

"Bloody 'ell Bodie, don't stop!"

Bodie co-ordinated the rhythm of his finger and his sucking, and in a matter of seconds Doyle was crying out loudly as his gushing semen spurted into Bodie's mouth in one of the most intense orgasms of his life. It was with great self-control that he prevented himself from crumpling across Bodie, instead taking hold of his lover's cock and giving it two swift pulls to send him over the edge. They collapsed into a sweaty heap, breathing as heavily as if they'd been sprinting.

"You've got a hairy arse," Bodie announced prosaically, once he'd got his breath back. "Come to think of it, you're hairy all over."

Doyle could tell from his voice Bodie was smiling and ignored the comment. Lying on his side, he trailed a finger through the cooling semen on Bodie's stomach. "I've only ever had one girlfriend do that to me - a nurse. Suppose with her anatomy lessons, she knew what she was doin'."

"Nurse did it to me too. When I came I thought my heart was going to fail!" Bodie chuckled.

"When we get around to fuckin', is it gonna feel like that…only more…?" Doyle wondered.

Bodie captured Doyle's hand.

"You ticklish there?" Doyle asked with delight.

"Never you mind. Dunno how it's going to feel, Ray. Don't s'pose it'll be easy at first, we'll have to be careful with each other. Don't want either of us getting infections." He chuckled. "Try explaining that to Cowley!"

"Where you goin'?"

"Get cleaned up; apart from you managing to not have your mouth in the right place when I came…" he pointed out with amusement.

"You distracted me!"

"…I also wanna wash my hands, if that's all right with you?"

"Oh. Yeah."

A few minutes later, the two men were curled up together in bed, and exhausted after such a long and emotionally charged day, they quickly fell asleep.

When the phone rang, Doyle was so disorientated that he tried to cancel the alarm clock twice. A sarcastic comment from Bodie put him on the right track and stretching out his arm, he lifted the receiver - at least this morning he was on the right side for the phone. As the voice on the line relayed Cowley's latest orders, he felt a strong sense of deja-vu, particularly with the warm and very distracting body pressed tightly up against his back. It got harder to concentrate on what he was being told when light kisses were placed on the back of his neck, which ceased abruptly with an 'oof' when he elbowed Bodie in the ribs to stop him.

After asking a few pertinent questions, he added, "I know where 3.7 is, I'll call him now." As he replaced the receiver, a pair of arms enveloped him. Doyle tried to twist out of the embrace, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach, as he remembered their awakening the previous day. "Knock it off Bodie!" he warned, his tone harsh as he pushed his partner away. "Christ, you trying to strangle me?"

"Ah Raymondo. Your sunny disposition in the mornings shines out as ever," commented Bodie sardonically. "Lucky for you, I've learned to live with your rotten moods."

He felt Bodie's hand snake around to grab his morning erection. "Fuck off," he retorted mildly, smiling. "And you can stop that, 'n' all," he added, batting Bodie's hand away. "Cowley wants us at HQ pronto." With that he rolled out of the bed and away from temptation. As he padded across the room, he noticed Bodie grinning at the sight of his erection bobbing with each step.

"I hate it when you play hard-to-get," said Bodie, and for that was rewarded with a rude two-fingered gesture as Doyle exited the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Since they had no idea what would be in store for them that day, they agreed to drive to work in separate cars. As it turned out, however, they were destined to spend the day together in Bodie's car, starting with a watch on a house in north London.

The street was typical of one of London's nicer suburbs. Tree-lined, with a row of semi-detached houses which overlooked a park, each had an immaculate garden, many partially obscured by hedges of varying heights and all neatly trimmed. The house under observation was not in quite such good repair as some, with peeling paint around the windows and the red door lacking the high glossy lustre evident on neighbouring houses. Rather than a hedge, rose bushes in need of a good prune grew wildly, with pink, red and yellow roses all competing for attention.

"What do you wanna bet this'll be a waste of time?" asked Doyle, selecting a telephoto lens for the camera they'd be using.

Bodie tutted. "We've only been here five minutes an' you're already complaining. Cowley wouldn't have sent us here unless he had good reason."

"His orders weren't that specific though, were they? Watch this house and get a photo of anyone entering or leaving. That's it?" Holding the camera up to his eye, he aimed it at the house and took a couple of practice shots.

"We've known the IRA have had something cooking for months and this is the most likely cell - there's been a lot of to-ing an' fro-ing for a while. An' let's face it, Sean Quigley coming into the country has got to be a sign that something's going to happen soon - what do you wanna bet it's a campaign to tie in with the elections."

"Yeah, you're probably right. But Cowley's reasons for doin' things are never straight-forward. Why's he so sure he's gonna come here?" Doyle waved towards the park. "Not exactly the easiest place to run an obbo, is it? I mean, there's no overlooking houses in front, and school playing fields at the back."

"Perfect location then, for anyone up to no good," Bodie pointed out mildly.

"I dunno, I've got a funny feelin' about this."

"Sorry sunshine, can't help your funny feelings now - not in public and broad daylight too," Bodie grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Doyle recognised Bodie's tactic of trying to lighten his mood and loftily ignored the comment. "You do realise that by midday, we won't be in the shade of this tree any more and there isn't a cloud in the sky, so it's gonna be hot." Carefully, he put the camera on a kit bag on the floor and moving the seat as far back as it would go, slunk down, placing his feet on the dashboard.

"Oi! You might treat your own car like a rubbish skip! Get your bloody great feet off there!" complained Bodie.

Doyle ignored him. "It's not as if you've ever sat like this in my car, is it? Come to think of it, I never got the stain out of the passenger seat from that time you screwed that nurse in it…"

Bodie grinned. "Yeah, I remember that one. Took her a while to come across, but once she'd made her mind up, she found me so irresistible, she couldn't even wait to get back to my place." Bodie looked at him and Doyle could tell from his expression that his partner was surprised he was bringing up the subject of past girlfriends.

He met Bodie's gaze. "Yeah, irresistible definitely. And mine," he added, echoing Bodie's words of the previous night, silently daring him to contradict his declaration.

"You'll get no argument from me," replied Bodie mildly and winked at him.

Doyle let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Shit."

"What?" Bodie asked, sitting up all alert.

"I keep lookin' at you, lookin' at your body and rememberin' the places where I've touched you and what it did to you; how you responded to my touch. I look at your hands and I know what they can do. I see your mouth an' want to kiss it - know how it'll feel, how you taste. It's drivin' me mad, Bodie." He shook his head in amazement and sighed. "Bloody 'ell. Never felt this way about any of me birds."

"Thank Christ for that," said Bodie slumping back into his seat, relief evident in his voice. "I thought I was the only one who was having trouble. And now look what all your talk's done to me."

The bulge in his trousers was conspicuous. Doyle lowered one leg to show Bodie that this was something else in which he was not alone.

Bodie stared at Doyle's crotch. "You're not wearing any pants, are you?"

"Not on a hot day like this," Doyle grinned.

"Fuck. Wish I didn't know that." Bodie tugged on his too-tight trousers, trying to get comfortable. "Wouldn't feel this bad if you'd let me have my wicked way with you in the shower this morning," he pouted.

"You getting in with me delayed our departure as it was." Doyle pointed out. "Any hanky panky would've made us late."

"There wouldn't have been enough hot water for us both to have a shower, and at least you didn't have to wait around for me to get washed. Bloody needed it too after last night," he grinned. "So if you're feeling frustrated now, you've only got yourself to blame. Should've listened to your uncle Bodie!" With that, he squirmed and wriggled, his discomfort plain.

Doyle watched with some amusement, his own hard-on chaffing against his jeans. "Haven't felt like this since my teens." He pulled at the front of the trousers to try to find a less constricted position. It didn't help and he shook his head sorrowfully. "Gawd, I think I've got it bad, Bodie."

Frustration was evident in the set of Bodie's face. "You and me both mate. You and me both."

 

As Doyle had predicted, the car interior was stifling by early afternoon and the open windows afforded little respite. When an urgent call came in from Cowley ordering them to back up another member of the CI5 team, their relief was palpable.

"I bloody knew it!" said Doyle disgustedly.

"How far?"

Doyle was studying a map. "About two miles. Head for the North Circular - it's slightly out of the way, but it'll be faster. Doesn't sound good."

"No," agreed Bodie grimly.

"If Murph was using his R/T ten minutes ago and now he's not answerin', we may be too late. Shit. Lucas and McCabe are gonna take at least twenty minutes to get there - if they're lucky and the roads are clear. Bear left at that fork."

"Cowley's idea worked from the sound of it," said Bodie reasonably.

Doyle was in no mood to be reasonable. "Leavin' us sitting sweatin' there half the day for nothin'."

"Wasn't for nothing. Quigley must've seen us some time this morning and gone to the other house, which is what the Cow wanted. You saw that place, Ray - would've been a nightmare trying to stake it out properly."

"Take the next left and we'll be on the main road."

With that their previous job was forgotten as they concentrated on getting to their colleague. A minute later they were in the fast lane of the North Circular Road doing a speed of 70. Being 30 mph above the limit, within two minutes they had a police car trying to flag them down.

"Oooh, it's the blues 'n' twos!" Bodie said, grinning. He pushed hard on the accelerator, knowing full well that the little extras his specially-modified engine had would leave the Panda standing. "Time it," he suggested.

"I give 'em half a minute, tops." Doyle studied his watch.

Behind them, the little blue police car suddenly pulled back, switching off its siren and lights. "Blimey, that was only twenty seconds," said Doyle, impressed. "They must have some new system - fastest I ever traced a number plate is 29 seconds. Have to tell Cowley about that."

Beside him Bodie grinned. "Bet they thought we were going to make their day. Must be disappointing knowing they can't nick us." He flashed the car in front who had also seen the police car and was sticking steadfastly to the speed limit. "Wonder what trouble Murph's got himself into."

"What did he say to you this mornin'? Saw you both with your heads together."

Doyle refrained from adding how strange it had seemed, being at HQ, trying to act normally, when so much in his life had changed. He had an awareness of Bodie in a way he'd never had before; could sense his presence nearby. He knew he must have appeared distracted to others, but since everyone knew he wasn't at his best in the mornings, he guessed no-one had given it much thought.

Bodie, on the other hand, had carried on as he always did, laughing and joking with the other operatives. On their way in, he'd stopped by their office and by the time he'd reached the rest room, Bodie was already there sipping his coffee, casually chatting to Murphy and looking totally at ease.

He had been struck by the fact that Bodie and Murphy were dressed almost identically in black trousers, white shirts and black leather jackets. Yet while Bodie looked gorgeous, oozing sex-appeal as he stood there, Murphy did absolutely nothing for him. He found that oddly reassuring.

He was gratified to find that Bodie had made him a coffee too and as he had passed it to him, their fingers had lightly brushed - he knew immediately Bodie had done that deliberately; not to throw him off-balance, but as an affirmation. He'd avoided eye contact, for fear that others might see what was there; what he was feeling; what had changed. It was only when everyone else had filed out in the direction of the briefing room that the two operatives had hung back a moment. Bodie had leant forward as if to whisper something in his ear, but instead had brushed his lips over his cheek. Before he could tell Bodie what a stupid thing that was to do while at HQ, Bodie had escaped out the door, leaving him to follow in his wake.

"Like the Cow said," answered Bodie, interrupting Doyle's ruminations, "Murph's at this theatre we're headed for, supposedly meeting up with one of his snitches - some German student named Krehl. From what he was saying, he was going to give Murph a lead on the leak at MI6."

Doyle whistled. "Why meet in a theatre?" he wondered aloud.

"Why not? You've got to meet somewhere. Think Murph said Krehl works there part-time."

"Turn left at the next lights."

Doyle grinned as Bodie cut up a Mercedes and the driver gesticulated at them. "What's that supposed to mean," asked Doyle.

Bodie had missed it. "What?"

Doyle placed his thumb and index finger an inch apart against his forehead and then moved it away four inches or so, and back, repeating it several times.

Bodie grinned. "It means I'm a dickhead!"

"Won't argue with that!"

"Saw that the other night on Jasper Carrott's programme. I wondered if'd catch on."

"Second on the right and the theatre should be on the left."

Bodie pulled up 50 yards down the road. "I'll take the back. See if you can find another way in."

"Right. I'll stick this camera gear in the boot."

"Ray…"

Doyle had part-opened the door. Pausing, he looked back at Bodie to see worry evident on his partner's face.

"Be careful mate." A simple instruction from Bodie, and whilst it was no-where near the first time he'd said it, never before had there been so much behind the words.

Doyle smiled. "Will do. An' you." Grasping Bodie's hand for a reassuring squeeze, he released it and got out. Dumping the gear in the boot, he set off at a run as Bodie climbed out and ran towards the stage door.

Doyle tried every possible entrance before giving up and heading to the back and the stage door. Pulling out his gun, he stayed to the side of the door and very carefully opened it. After the brightness of the summer day, inside was gloomy and dark - the main power seemed to be off, leaving dim safe-lights to provide illumination. It was going to take his eyes several minutes to adjust.

His heart beating hard, adrenaline pumping, he entered. In the cool silence, he could hear his own breathing, still slightly ragged from his running. Edging his way along the wall, he listened for the smallest sound, gripping his gun at his shoulder in case he should need it. Suddenly the wall turned a corner and passing through an open door, he found himself backstage. He still couldn't see much and with the various curtains hanging down in the wings, it was difficult to know if anyone was there. Another step and he could just make out part of the stage and the fact that the curtains were closed. Another step and with a pang that was as physical as if he'd been punched in the gut, he glimpsed in the gloom a figure lying sprawled in the centre of the stage.

"Bodie!" he called and rushed forward, fearing the worst and heedless to any danger. With his heart banging in his throat, he reached the body and felt relief sweep over him.

"Murph," he whispered. Damn, he'd forgotten they were wearing almost identical clothing. There was a pulse. Coming to his senses and realising the danger he was in, he stood up to get back under cover. As he was halfway up, the floor gave way beneath him and he fell with a yell.

Reflexes taking over, he rolled as he hit the ground - the drop no more than eight feet - and although he hit something solid, he knew immediately he hadn't done any lasting damage. A trap door, he realised with disgust, as it closed shut, blocking out the last vestige of light.

Above him, he heard someone running towards the stage and wondered whether it was Bodie or Krehl. The place he was in was now perfectly dark and it took him a moment to locate his gun which he'd dropped in the fall. Moving slowly forward, he tripped over items - probably stage props, he guessed and then he was at a wall, cool and slightly damp to the touch. Moving his hand out to the right, he felt the smooth wood of a door. It was too much to ask for it to be open although he twisted the handle several times to be sure. Reaching into an inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a Swiss army knife and opening the largest blade, inserted into between the lock and the door. Two twists he'd got part of the lock off, a moment later and the door swung open.

He was out like a shot and running almost silently along the corridor, worried for Bodie. What was his partner thinking after hearing his name called and him shouting as he fell. Who had he heard up there? Was Krehl still in the building? Some sixth sense told him they weren't alone.

Voices on the stage. Now the gloom was hiding him instead of hampering him. Bodie's voice and someone else's. An accent - German - must be Krehl. Doyle carefully made his way around the back of the stage, vigilant in case Krehl had accomplices. As he approached the wings he heard the voices more clearly.

"You'll never get away with it," Bodie said adamantly. "Not now that you've killed Krehl."

So who was Bodie talking to? Doyle wondered. Fuck. The situation was not good. He'd killed once, could kill again.

"I'll claim diplomatic immunity," said the German.

"We have our people outside - they'll kill you as soon you step out of here," Bodie countered.

"I think you are worth something," the German replied. "Your friends would have to shoot you to get to me."

Doyle's heart sunk. The German obviously had the upper hand. Not good.

"I'd like to believe that, but I'm pretty expendable," Bodie insisted.

Keep them talking - standard hostage procedure. Shit.

Gingerly, Doyle peered around the side of one of the wing curtains. In the middle of the stage, Murphy's form lay inert. Further away, a blond man stood close behind Bodie, one arm about his chest, the other pushing a gun into his neck. Doyle cast his eyes around - he needed a good line of sight and quickly, before they moved. Keep him talking Bodie, he willed.

He looked up at the lighting gantry. There was a small walkway up there - how to get up? He prayed he could do it from his end of the stage. Yes, an access ladder stood a few feet away. Silently he made his way up.

"How many you have outside?" asked the German.

"Don't know," said Bodie honestly. This comment earned him a fist in a kidney.

"Don't think that I will not kill you," he warned and pushed the gun further into Bodie's neck. "I thought I made big mistake leaving the door open. I have sent your friend under the stage and I have you here. You will be my passport. Now the back door is locked, no-one will come in. I have some bargaining power - for my release to the East German embassy, I will tell your people who the double agent is in MI6. Come. It is time to make the phone call to your Mr. Cowley."

"How do you know Cowley?"

Bodie was stalling, Doyle could tell. As he started to crawl slowly along the gantry, he wondered whether Bodie knew he was there. He was certainly acting as though he knew.

"You are CI5 like your friend there, no?"

Doyle stopped and eased the safety catch off. In the gloom of the emergency lights, he aimed at the German but the position wasn't right. All he'd have to do is jerk as he shot him and Bodie would be dead too. His heart pounded, but he kept his gun aimed and steady.

"How do you know none of our people are already in here? You don't know who's behind that curtain," Bodie pointed out. “There could be any number of agents in the theatre.”

"No-one has come in after you and your friend - I saw you on the security cameras. After that, I locked the door. There is only one person out there, and he is already dead," the German smiled, waving his gun in the direction of the auditorium. A single shot rang out and behind Bodie, the German slumped to the floor, a hole in the centre of his head, his eyes open and unseeing.

Doyle couldn't get down the ladder fast enough and sprinted across the stage, to be met half way by Bodie. They embraced, holding tightly onto each other.

"I thought you were dead," whispered an anguished Doyle.

"I heard you cry out…"

Suddenly they were kissing hard, their fears for each other giving them an edge of desperation.

A groan behind them and they quickly pulled apart.

Doyle knelt down. "Murph, you all right mate?"

Murphy's eyes fluttered closed. Doyle checked his pulse and satisfied, stood up as Bodie pulled out his radio. "Reinforcements should be here - I'm gonna let 'em in. Back in a mo." As he stepped over the German's body, he bent down to retrieve his gun, which was lying near the body, before striding off towards the stage door. A few minutes later, Murphy's eyes fluttered open again.

"OK Murph?" Doyle asked.

"Dunno. Bastard slugged me. My head's pounding…" he went to sit up and quickly thought better of it "…and I feel dizzy."

"Concussion. Stay put."

"Not going anywhere mate," Murphy smiled weakly. "Brucker?"

"Him? Dead," said Doyle.

"An' we can thank our marksman for that," said Bodie returning.

Doyle exchanged a meaningful look with him.

"Krehl's dead," Bodie added, squatting down beside his colleague.

"Shit."

"Yeah," agreed Bodie. "Bloody lucky he didn't shoot you, too."

"Think he was about to when you two arrived. Arrrgh!"

"What?" Bodie asked, worry evident in his voice.

"My head. Feel as if I've been dropped on it."

Doyle knelt down and peered into Murphy's eyes.

Bodie stood up. "An ambulance is on its way mate. I'll see if I can find the power switch, and get some bloody lights on."

Bodie passed Lucas and McCabe as they walked onto the stage. Paying no more than a cursory glance at Brucker, they headed for the other two operatives.

"Murph's informant and Brucker are dead and Murph here needs a stretcher," said Doyle, succinct and to the point.

"One of yours?" asked McCabe as he pointed at Brucker.

"Yeah."

"Thought so. Bodie wouldn't have been so dead centre. That's a skill, that is. Pity he's not still alive - Cowley'll have your hide."

"Fucking hell!" said Murphy, throwing his arm across his eyes as the stage lights came on full.

As everyone paused, squinting as they got used to the bright lights, Doyle deliberated for a moment and sighed. It would all be in the report, so he may as well get it over and done with.

"He'd taken Bodie hostage; I didn't have a choice," he revealed.

"Blimey, Bodie must be slipping," laughed Lucas, clearly relishing the mileage he was going to get out of that tidbit.

"Yeah, he got me too," admitted Murph.

"A double whammy!" said McCabe gleefully. "I bet the Old Man'll be really impressed with you two. So, what happened to you?" he asked Doyle shrewdly.

Doyle had the grace to look embarrassed. "Found meself doin' an unexpected tour beneath the stage," he explained, indicating the trap door McCabe was now standing on. "Bastard triggered it while I was standin' on it."

McCabe threw his head back, laughing loudly. "Oh, that's priceless, that is. I'm gonna dine out on this one for months."

In the next instant, McCabe disappeared with a yell as the trap opened and swallowed him.

As a string of indignant muffled expletives emanated from the hole in the stage, Bodie returned looking all innocence and with Doyle and Lucas, peered into the darkness.

 

Doyle drove. Both men were shaken and so the ride back was very subdued, a tacit agreement seemingly in operation that they wouldn't talk about what had just happened. Feelings about that were too close to the surface and they needed some time and privacy to sort it all out.

Doyle, leant forward and switched on the car radio, in time to hear an interesting news report. "So, Hargreaves got the old heave-ho," he said, glad of something to break the awkward silence.

"Sounds like it," Bodie agreed.

"Hell hath no fury like the Cow scorned. He works fast, gotta give him credit where it's due."

"Wonder what the press'll make of it."

Doyle shrugged. "Doubt they'll believe that about him resignin' to spend more time with his family - no-one in their right mind would give up a plum position like that. I mean, he only got the Defence Minister's job a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, well it couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke. Always thought he was a bit smarmy."

"The last thing the government needs this close to a general election is more scandal. Last month is was McAllister and the prostitute, two weeks ago it was Taylor-Smith and those nice little deals with the construction company he conveniently forgot to tell anyone he was a director of, and I suppose Falkener's resignation will be news in the next day or two."

"Yeah, it's odd that, now you come to mention it. You reckon the opposition's running a smear campaign?"

"Could be. If they are, they're doin' a bloody good job. Government's lost a 20 point lead in the opinion polls in the last month. They're neck 'n' neck now."

"Sounds cosy!" Bodie grinned.

"You," said Doyle, sorry he was unable to take his eyes off the road to look at his partner, "have a dirty mind."

"You just noticed? It's taken you long enough."

Doyle laughed. "I've got a feelin' I've only just scratched the surface, mate."

Bodie touched his thigh lightly. "You'll be finding out soon, won't you?"

"Hope so," he said, glancing briefly at his partner. After a pause, he asked, "How did you know McCabe was standin' on the trap door?"

Bodie grinned. "Closed circuit TV - same way Brucker got you."

Doyle chuckled. "Did you see the look on McCabe's face when he went?"

"Yeah, was a picture. Shut him up pretty sharpish."

Drifting off into a pensive silence, they said no more until their arrival at Head Quarters. There, they retreated to an empty office to make a start on their reports.

"So, what's your story," Bodie asked after they'd sat staring at blank sheets of paper for five minutes.

Doyle shrugged. "My story? I fucked up."

"Go on," urged Bodie.

Doyle went through step by step, admitting his blundering error in leaving the safety of the wings when he'd thought it was Bodie lying there. He justified his failure to recognise Murphy as partly being the dim lighting, and partly that the two men had been wearing almost identical clothing. Bodie remained unusually quiet during this confession.

"What about you, Bodie? What happened with you?"

Bodie took a long breath. "Got in an' as I was creeping along the corridor, I heard a noise - a thud. Reckon that was when Brucker knocked Murph out on the stage. Waited for a while, but it'd all gone quiet, so I kept edging forward until I got to the stage - that's when I spotted Murph. Didn't check him - just kept to the wings. Suddenly the lights went out, so I thought at least Krehl was there. Didn't know if he had anyone with him." Bodie suddenly stood up and started to pace. "I went out to the auditorium and started looking for him and literally fell over his body in the stalls. A few seconds later, I heard you call my name from the stage and then yell out."

Bodie paused and stared out of the window before continuing. "I didn't think," he admitted. "I went running up to the stage an' when I got there, Murph was still there, but there was no sign of you. I came to my senses and realised I was right out in the open, so I went over to the curtains at the side. Brucker must've seen me because a couple of minutes later, he grabbed me from behind with a gun at my throat and made me throw mine down."

"Did you know I'd got back?" Doyle quietly asked, curious.

Bodie turned around to face him and for the first time, he saw the naked anguish there. "Didn't know where you'd got to, or whether the cavalry'd arrived. I kept him talking just in case."

Doyle got up and faced his partner, suppressing the urge to touch him. "So, what do we tell Cowley? Neither of us exactly performed at our best today. If we tell him what really happened he'll give us a month with Macklin as punishment."

Bodie sat on the edge of the table and shrugged. "I can leave out a few details, but it's going to be hard for you to explain what you were doing away from cover in the middle of the stage."

Doyle sighed. "Yeah, well I deserve whatever he gives me. It was a fuckin' stupid thing to do. An' you know what frightens me Bodie? It wouldn't have happened a few days ago. It's because I thought it was you there, and that you were dead."

"Well, I can say the same thing. Now it's happened once, maybe next time we'll keep our heads, eh?"

"When I was aimin' for him, I couldn't keep my hand steady. What if I'd shot you by mistake?"

"Nah, how could you hit something as gorgeous as me?"

"Bodie! I'm bein' serious. The smallest movement in my hand, and you'd've been dead."

"And I'm not. 'Cos you're the best shot in CI5." Bodie reached out and took Doyle's face. "OK?"

"S'pose so." His hand moved up to cover Bodie's. With a small twist, he kissed Bodie's palm. "I think you're gonna get your wish tonight," he said, his voice shaky.

Bodie looked at Doyle for a few seconds and then nodded his head once. Abruptly, the door opened and by the time Betty had stuck her head in, the two men were standing apart.

"Mr. Cowley wants to see you now."

Cowley's mood was predictably thunderous after he'd listened in silence to their verbal report. He was none too impressed with Bodie getting caught and both operatives knew that had he told the whole story the Controller would have been livid. Instead he saved most of his wrath for Doyle, and was particularly scathing of his actions, all of which Doyle felt was justified. He therefore accepted the criticism with uncharacteristic equanimity, making no attempt to justify himself. That he had thought it Bodie lying there was, to him, justification enough. Cowley didn't appear to concur with that conclusion and told them both so.

"I ought to send you for some retraining," Cowley said with disgust, "except I doubt it'd do any good. The two of you can be pig-headed at times and no amount of training is going to make you change - at times it works to my benefit and sometimes, like today, you screw up."

Cowley glared at his two operatives, standing silently before him. At least there was no air of defiance around them as there was sometimes when they had a head to head.

"But you, Doyle, didn't have to shoot him dead - you're a good enough shot to have just maimed him - put him temporarily out of action."

Doyle said nothing in defence.

"I might as well be talking to a brick wall," said Cowley as he walked around his desk and sat down. He looked from one agent to another. "All I have are questions and no answers," he said irritably. "I'd like know how the East Germans fit into the picture. What are their links to this MI6 business? According to 7.2, Krehl had claimed to have vital information concerning the General Election, which we were about to pay £1,000 for…"

Doyle let out a low whistle.

"What information did he have? Why did Brucker kill Krehl - was it to stop him passing on that information? And yet, Brucker seemed keen to give us information on the MI6 double agent. Why? Did he know Krehl was about to do the same thing?"

"Have you any idea what Krehl had on the elections?" Bodie asked.

"Unfortunately not," Cowley replied. "But he had impressed upon Murphy that it was something very big - hence the high price tag."

"It seems to me that someone wanted the information about the double agent leaked," Doyle pointed out. "Maybe Krehl was only supposed to tell us the MI6 information, but someone found out he was also going to pass on something sensitive regarding the Election and killed him to stop him. Brucker might have been brought in at short notice to do the job instead."

"That's a possibility," Cowley agreed. "We'll probably never know the truth, no thanks to you, 4.5. We'll have to see what records can find on Brucker which may give us some clues." Cowley stood up. "I've a dinner appointment with Blackwell from MI6; you may have seen him yesterday - he's Willis' new director of operations. Right. I'll see you both in briefing tomorrow at 09:30 sharp."

"Can we make an appointment with you some time tomorrow sir," asked Bodie. "It's about a personal matter."

Doyle could easily detect the note of uncertainty in Bodie's voice and as Cowley looked from one to the other, Doyle felt certain the Controller had registered it too.

"Both of you?" he clarified.

"Sir. We'd need about half an hour."

Cowley looked at his watch. From the look on his face, his curiosity was obviously piqued and he sounded disappointed as he opened his appointment diary and said, "I don't have the time now." With a glance at the book he confirmed, "08:30 sharp."

 

The drive to the North Middlesex hospital was relatively quick in the mid-evening traffic. Once there, it took the two CI5 men a while to locate their friend in the sprawling hospital.

“Blimey, you’re in the lap of luxury Murph,” commented Doyle as they entered his private room.

“Didn’t your mum teach you to knock?” Murphy complained.

“What for? You planning on knocking off one of the nurses?” grinned Bodie. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, mate, but you’re not looking your best!”

Murphy was sitting in bed, a bandage wrapped around his head, his right eye bruised and swollen. He touched it gingerly, grinning. "What, this? Makes ‘em want to mother me.” Murphy’s smile disappeared. “Thanks you two, for saving my hide. I thought I’d bought it back there.”

"Didn't get a chance to ask you what happened," said Doyle.

Murphy took a sip of water from the glass on the cabinet beside his bed. "Krehl phoned me yesterday," he began "and said he had something on the MI6 double agent. Then he said if I was willing to pay him £1,000, he give me something very big on the elections as well. I wanted to meet straight away, but he said he couldn't see me 'til today; so we arranged to meet at the theatre at one o'clock. When I got there, Krehl wasn't at the stage door as we'd planned and after a quick look on the stage, alarm bells started going off in my head. I called HQ to see if he'd left a message - bloody lucky I did. Maggie had been on the switchboard and had just gone to lunch. She hadn't logged any calls for me, but just to be on the safe side, someone went to find her to double check.

"I signed off and I went up to the security room, where I found Brucker with a gun, waiting for me. The theatre had a closed circuit tv system and apparently he'd seen me come in. First thing he did was relieve me of my gun and radio. Then he introduced himself, said he was with East German security. He told me Krehl knew too much and was going to tell me everything. Brucker seemed nervous - very talkative…"

"Yeah," said Bodie. "I noticed that. Sweating like a pig an' he was almost shaking, like he was on drugs or something."

"I wondered about that too," agreed Murphy. "Anyway, I knew base would try to call back and get no answer, so I figured if I could keep him talking, I might last 'til the back-up arrived." He smiled at his two colleagues. "Worked, didn't it?"

"All this was in the security room?" Doyle asked.

"Yeah. He was quite upset when he saw Bodie arrive. He made me go onto the stage and then slugged me from behind - s'pose he didn't want to let his gun go off in case Bodie heard it."

"I did hear something soon after I got in," confirmed Bodie. "Must've been that."

Murphy nodded. "You know the rest of the story." With a look of genuine gratitude, he added, "Thanks, both of you. I owe you one."

Doyle grinned. “Yeah, well next time you're callin' us names, remember, we’re the Bisto kids that bite! How’s the head?”

“X-rays didn’t show up any fractures…”

“Your bonce is too hard for that!” interrupted Bodie. “Might even knock some sense into you.”

“Steady on, Bodie,” added Doyle. “Next you’ll be suggestin’ there’s some intelligence in there. How many fingers am I holdin' up, Murph?” He held four fingers aloft.

“Three,” grinned Murphy, playing along with their game.

“There you go, that's nothin’ to do with his vision, he just can’t count!”

“Don’t talk to me about my vision. I’ve only just stopped seeing double. Made me feel quite queasy. And talking of vision…” he trailed off, looking from one to the other.

The two men tensed. Neither had since brought the subject up, but both had been aware that Murphy might have seen them on the stage together.

“Yeah?” prompted Doyle, when Murphy lapsed into silence. Bodie looked at him.

“Uh, oh nothing. What did you two bring me then?” Murphy didn’t really think the obvious tactic would work. Not when the tenacious Ray Doyle was involved.

“Nothin’ - he ate the grapes he bought you,” said Doyle, pointing at his partner.

Bodie managed to look like the cat who’d just got the cream.

“So what were you gonna say about your vision?” Doyle had to know what Murphy had seen.

The agent coloured slightly, intriguing Doyle. “Uh, well…” He looked decidedly sheepish. “…You know how you have those dreams when you wake up and then find you haven’t woken up at all because something really weird happens…?”

“Don’t tell me - you saw flying pigs?” joked Bodie.

“Go on Murph,” Doyle encouraged, ignoring his partner.

“The first time I thought I’d come round, I knew I hadn’t because…” he coughed and halted. If someone had dropped a pin, it would have been clearly heard. “…well…I dreamt I saw you two having a snog. Course,” he added quickly, surprised at the non-reaction, “when I really came round, Doyle was alone, leaning over me. Could tell he wasn't an angel, so I knew I was still alive.”

“You’ve got a strange mind, Murph,” said Bodie, before Doyle could say anything. “Maybe you ought to do a few rounds with the delectable Dr. Ross.”

“Why am I surprised you ate my grapes?” Murphy wanted the subject changed. He wasn’t sure why he’d ever mentioned it. Partly because it seemed so real, he supposed. But then again, he hadn’t really expected CI5’s two most macho, womanising agents to tell him they’d gone queer for each other. The very thought was ludicrous.

“Dunno, don’t think anything I’ve ever brought you in hospital has made it intact,” smiled Bodie. “Trouble is, I always get what I want people to get me if I was in hospital, and then I just can’t resist it!”

“You two staying for a while?” Murphy wanted to know. “‘Cos if you are, do us a favour and pull up a couple of chairs. You’re making my neck ache.”

Bodie and Doyle did as they were told and before they knew it, half an hour had passed swiftly.

A young nurse entered, earning smiles from all three occupants. “Just to let you know visiting time’s over.”

“Watch this one,” Bodie told her in a conspiratorial voice. “He may not look much, but he’s a bit of a tiger on the quiet. He can disarm with just a look!”

“Oi, stop blotting my copy book!" Murphy protested. "Anyway,” he added, “if I’m a tiger, then you’re a weasel!”

Bodie pouted while the nurse laughed at the by-play. “Well, I for one am not staying if you’re going to insult me.”

Doyle too rose to leave. “Here Murph,” he said as he got to the door, “why don’t you ask if they’ve got a nice juicy piece of steak for your shiner?” Behind the nurse’s back, Murphy executed a gesture which left Doyle in no difficulty understanding what he thought of that suggestion. As Doyle laughed, the nurse turned to find an innocent expression on Murphy’s face.

The two men headed down the corridor towards the main entrance.

“I wasn’t going to say anythin',” Doyle assured his partner without prompting.

Bodie's face looked grim. “Why did you egg him on then?”

“Dunno. Just wanted to know what he saw, I s’pose.”

“Fuck, we’ve got to sort ourselves out,” said Bodie shaking his head - "but not here," he added, pre-empting anything Doyle may have been about to say.

“Your place or mine?” Doyle asked, knowing the answer already. Bodie had said plenty of times how much he preferred Doyle’s flat.

“Yours,” Bodie confirmed. “We’ll have to stop by my place to pick up some gear though.”

“After you get your stuff, I think a drive to Wandsworth Common might be a good idea,” Doyle suggested.

“Why?”

“’Cos when I get you alone, I’ll want to have my wicked way with you…”

“Not on Wandsworth Common, you won't!” argued Bodie indignantly.

Doyle grinned at the thought. “We’ve got to do some talkin', you moron. And the only way we’re goin’ to be able to do that without rippin’ each other’s clothes off is to do it somewhere public.”

“Why can’t we do it at your place after we’ve ripped each other’s clothes off?”

“We’ll be too knackered,” Doyle pointed out reasonably. “We’ve got that appointment with the Cow first thing tomorrow and we need to have sorted ourselves out by then. Don’t know ‘bout you, but by the time I’ve finished with you tonight, all I’m gonna be fit for is sleepin’.”

“We’ll stop at that Chinese in Fulham and get a takeaway.”

“You’re on,” grinned Doyle. “An’ I’m feelin’ so generous, I’ll let you pay.”

“And there was me thinking that the advantage of going with you is that you’d want to go dutch!”

Doyle laughed, quietly enjoying the fact that Bodie had alluded to them 'dating'. “Not a chance, mate. Gonna milk you for all you're worth.”

“Milk me, eh? Like the sound of that,” Bodie grinned, waggling his eyebrows and rubbing his groin.

“The sooner we get goin’,” Doyle pointed out, “the sooner we can get goin’.”

 

The sky, which had remained blue all day, was now turning orange, and the heat given off by the early summer sun still lingered, coaxing people out of their homes later than usual. Turning into a public car park on the edge of the common, spaces even at that time were still hard to come by. After driving around for a minute, Bodie aimed the car at one corner and lined them up so that the setting sun wouldn't be in their eyes. The daylight made it seem earlier than it actually was - the two men had hardly eaten that day and were ravenous, eating in silence as they balanced the foil containers precariously on their laps. Even after they'd finished, that silence continued for some time as each reflected on the events of the day.

It was Doyle who finally spoke up. "We made two mistakes today which we can't afford to repeat," he stated without introduction. "The first was needlessly putting our lives in jeopardy and the second was the kiss." He looked at Bodie, who was staring out of the windscreen, his jaw muscle bunching. "We've got to agree that no matter what, we won't do either again," Doyle pressed, when Bodie remained silent.

"Easier said than done," Bodie said, finally. "I don't mean kissing…won't do that again. Christ, never even kissed my birds in public. I can't believe we did that." Bodie's voice held a note of genuine incredulity.

"Yeah well, we did. But you're right - I doubt I'd do it again either," agreed Doyle. "I'm still trying to get used to the fact we've got to hide our feelings and everything. What's easier said than done?"

"Taking risks….we both did it when we thought the other had been hurt - was maybe dead. I can't guarantee I won't take a risk next time."

"Takin' risks is one thing; what we did today was bloody stupid." Doyle watched a family heading back to their car. "No death pacts, Bodie."

"Who said anything about a death pact?"

Doyle turned towards his partner, his face grim. "I just did. An' I mean it Bodie. The way you acted today…"

Bodie twisted abruptly to face him. "Oh and your actions were by the book, were they?" he sneered.

"No they weren't - I lost my head for a minute. I admit that. But you…from what you've said, you went runnin' up to the stage like the fuckin' ninth cavalry with a death wish. You didn't care."

"So what makes what you did so different?" Bodie challenged.

"I dunno. I s'pose I just forgot meself for a minute. But you were actin' like you didn't give a toss whether you got yourself killed. Can't you see the difference?"

Bodie sat rigidly in his seat staring out of the windscreen, his hand gripping the gear stick as though his life depended on it.

Doyle placed his hand over Bodie's. "Please, Bodie." His voice was very quiet. He got no reaction. "For fuck's sake Bodie!" he said, his voice raised. "What if you'd got yourself killed today? I was all right and you could've got yourself shot." He used the back of his hand to roughly wipe away a tear. Staring at the floor, he repeated more quietly, "You could've been killed. Don't want to lose you like that." His green eyes remained bright with unshed tears.

Bodie's took his chin and turned it towards him, but his hand didn't linger - they were still in a public place. "Ray…I'm sorry." His face was filled with remorse. "No death pacts," he agreed.

Doyle let out his breath gustily. "Shit, I want to break the first rule already."

"Eh?"

"Wanna kiss you," Doyle explained with a smile. "S'pose I'm gonna have to wait."

"Too right you are," Bodie grinned. "It's ten minutes to your flat. Can you hold out?"

"Think so. Let's get goin'."

 

The moment the door to Doyle's flat was shut, he pushed Bodie against the wall and kissed him hard. His erection was almost instantaneous and he ground it against Bodie’s groin, pleased to find an answering hardness.

“Wanna fuck you Bodie,” Doyle said, the first time he had a chance to speak.

“Yeah, want you to.”

Doyle grinned. “But not here,” he added, trying to push Bodie away. “Trouble is, don’t think ‘m gonna last long.”

Grasping Bodie’s hand he pulled him towards the bedroom. As they passed the bathroom, Doyle darted in and appeared grinning, holding a jar of Vaseline in his hand.

"What d'you use that stuff for?" Bodie asked suspiciously.

"Chapped lips," Doyle grinned.

The bedroom, Doyle realised, was very warm and security meant he couldn't sleep with a window open. Leaving the light off and the door open allowed the hall light to throw some illumination into the room. Drawing the curtains, he returned to Bodie and began to unbutton his shirt. His lips were taken in a searing kiss, soft and sensuous as their tongues danced. After a minute, he reluctantly pulled away eliciting a whimper from Bodie.

“Let’s get out of these clothes,” he suggested. As he pulled his teeshirt over his head, he felt Bodie take hold of his nipple and suck it hard.

“Bodie!” he complained, pushing him away. Gingerly, he undid the zip to his jeans.

“Christ, forgot you’re not wearing pants,” grinned Bodie and grasped Doyle’s still-hard cock.

“Will you just get undressed,” ordered Doyle, exasperated.

Doyle sat cross-legged on the bed and watched Bodie undress. He couldn’t believe how erotic he found such a mundane task - he’d seen Bodie undress before and was thankful that it’d not had this effect on his body. With that thought, he took hold of his own cock and began to milk it. He still felt self-conscious performing such an act in front of Bodie, but knowing that his partner would enjoy it spurred him on.

“Enjoying the view?” Bodie asked, eyes fixed on Doyle's cock. He slid his shirt slowly off his well-muscled shoulders.

“Yeah,” sighed Doyle. “You?”

Bodie looked down at his own erection and then threw a sardonic glance at him. “What do you think, Sunshine?”

Bodie climbed onto the end of the bed and advanced on his partner with a leer.

“Got an idea,” grinned Doyle.

“Got a few myself,” Bodie answered and launched himself at Doyle.

Doyle managed to fend him off. “Can I watch you wank?”

That brought Bodie up short. “What? Why waste it?”

“’Cos I won’t last more than a minute, you berk. Been tryin’ to tell you since we got here."

"No staying power, that's your trouble," Bodie grinned and pushing Doyle back down onto the bed, kissed him.

"It’d be a turn on to watch you," Doyle continued, as soon as he'd recovered possession of his mouth. As he sat back up, he smiled at a special memory. "Was that time with that bird, Nicole. While I fucked her, I watched you wankin’. I’ve rarely ever come that hard. I didn’t admit to meself why.”

Bodie smiled back and, kneeling in front of him with his legs slightly apart, took hold of himself and began to stroke. Doyle grabbed his discarded teeshirt from the floor beside the bed and laid it in between them, then, unconsciously licking his lips, he stared at Bodie’s cock. Holding onto his own balls, he began to masturbate. Bodie’s free hand moved across his own chest, rubbing against his nipples until they peaked.

“Slut,” murmured Doyle with a smile.

“Thought you knew that,” Bodie grinned. His eyes dropped to Doyle’s groin.

Doyle watched Bodie closely, enjoying the sight of the big hand pleasuring, the balls being lifted with each upward stroke, the dark red glans revealed with each downward pull, the pre-cum oozing from the slit. His breathing quickened, his balls tightened, his hand moved faster, his movements matched by Bodie’s. And then with a gasp Bodie came, semen arcing through the air towards him and a moment later, he followed, the release relieving immediate tension. Leaning forward, he kissed Bodie tenderly.

“That was fantastic. You’re obviously a master of that particular occupation,” Doyle added with a grin.

“The best,” agreed Bodie.

“Still want to fuck you,” Doyle reminded him. “You gonna let me?”

“Yeah, but don’t forget I’m a virgin.” Bodie’s voice held a note of tension.

Doyle stroked his partner’s face. “’S why I wanted the wank first. Didn’t want to lose control. You’re afraid.”

“Nervous,” Bodie corrected.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, but it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s me,” Bodie confessed.

“Think it might change you?” Doyle was genuinely concerned for his lover.

“Dunno. Yeah. Sort of.” Bodie looked exasperated.

“Once you’ve been fucked, you can’t call what we’re doing ‘muckin' about’ any more,” he said intuitively. “It’s the real thing.”

Bodie let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I hate it when you’re right,” he smiled. “But I think that about sums it up. Half of me really wants to go through with this, and the other half is telling me not to.”

“You’re makin' it sound like an ordeal. Want to make love to you Bodie.

Throwing the soiled teeshirt to the floor, Doyle lay down on the bed, pulling Bodie with him, and treating him to a kiss that was sweet and intense. For a long time, they lay together, kissing languidly. With the urgency gone, they could bask in the enjoyment they found in touching each other, their hands exploring, brushing a nipple here, caressing a buttock there. They charted each other's bodies, adjusting to the unfamiliar masculinity and male odour, discovering what delighted and what aroused and mapping areas of pleasure. The one thing that was missing, was the self-consciousness of new lovers. Their deep friendship and trust, their shared knowledge and experience, banished all awkwardness.

Their arousal built slowly. Doyle rolled onto Bodie and thrust his hardness against his lover's, lapping at his neck and capturing an earlobe gently between teeth. As he worried it, Bodie shuddered beneath him. "Like that, don't you?" he whispered.

"Yessss," Bodie answered quietly, between panting breaths.

Straightening his arms, Doyle pushed himself up and looked down at his lover, at the desire on his face.

"You're beautiful, Bodie." He glanced down at their cocks sliding against each other, slick with pre-cum. "I still can't believe we're here, doing this. It seems so….I dunno. So right. Why did we wait so long?"

"Don't think we were ready for it before. Now stop yacking and give us a kiss."

Doyle smiled and leaning down, complied. The kiss held a sensuality he couldn't remember experiencing with any of his girlfriends. Their lips nuzzled - Bodie had wonderful lips, he decided. Soft and pouty, and a hint of moustache stubble - that was something he was unused to - and the two together were a study in contrasts. He smiled at that thought.

"What?" asked Bodie.

Doyle didn't answer. Instead he laid a trail of wet kisses down Bodie's neck and onto his almost bare chest. Capturing a nipple, he sucked avidly, but realised that Bodie wasn't anywhere near as sensitive there as he was. The kisses moved lower, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, as he followed an intriguing line of hair which ended in the black thatch around the base of his cock.

Kneeling between Bodie's legs, Doyle leant down and taking his cock into his mouth, sucked avidly. His assault elicited a satisfying gasp. One hand worked the cock, the other fondled his balls, rolling them gently in his palm. Their coolness was a counterpoint to the heat he was sucking on. His hand moved further back, brushing over the perineum, seeking the entrance he wanted to plunder. Bodie opened his legs wider to give him better access and when Doyle's finger rimmed the pucker of muscle, it spasmed satisfyingly. Bodie groaned.

Doyle was so turned-on by this, he grasped his own cock and began to pump.

"Want to fuck you, Bodie." Arousal gave his voice a rasping quality. "Gonna make it good for you," he assured.

Leaning over, he grabbed the jar of vaseline from the bedside table and opening it, dipped his fingers in. Sitting back on his haunches between Bodie's legs, he took his lover's cock in one hand, the other again rimmed the puckered anal muscle. This time, he pushed one slick finger in, watching Bodie's face, carefully monitoring for signs of discomfort. A second finger joined the first, then a third, scissoring to relax and widen the virgin muscle. Virgin! Was he really about to do this? Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"You ready?" he asked?

"As I'll ever be," Bodie replied with a smile.

"D'you think it would be easier if you lie on your stomach?"

"Want to watch you," Bodie replied simply.

Doyle grabbed the two pillows from his side and put them under Bodie, then dipping his fingers into the Vaseline again, coated his cock liberally, knowing Bodie was watching his every movement. Putting Bodie's legs over his shoulders, he centred himself and, taking a deep breath, pushed against the muscle very, very carefully.

Having sheathed the glans, he stopped as Bodie grunted and the muscle tightened. A minute later Bodie nodded to continue. Agonisingly slowly, fighting his deepest instinctual desire to thrust, he pushed further in. The grip of the muscle was almost painful. Finally he was fully sheathed and he found himself afraid to move, for fear of injuring his lover. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

Bodie's erection had faded considerably. "'M I hurtin' you?" he asked worriedly.

Bodie grinned at him. "Nah." Doyle gave him an incredulous look. "Well, it did at first," he admitted. "Now it just feels uncomfortable - like I badly need the bog."

Doyle laughed at Bodie's bluntness. "Stop me if it gets too much, OK?"

Gently, he pulled part way out and slid back, repeating the action and noting with relief that each time got easier. Bodie groaned and he stopped, but a glance at his lover's face and the fact that his cock was stirring, thickening, told him the discomfort was going. His next thrust was met part way.

Doyle found that as his worry lessened, his arousal grew, the heat engulfing his cock seemed to pervade his whole body, inflaming him. He thrust harder and watched with pleasure as Bodie began to milk his own once-again engorged cock. He was close, teetering on the edge of an abyss of sensation, ready to plummet willingly into annihilation.

"Gonna come," he warned, the two words each punctuated with a thrust.

Bodie met each thrust. "Fuck me Ray. Go on, harder!"

Doyle obeyed Bodie's plea and plunged with greater force as the words inflamed him further. His heart was hammering hard, and in the heat of the room, sweat ran in rivulets down his back, his chest glistening with droplets caught in his hair. And then he was there, falling, tumbling, each spasm eliciting a gasp.

Enervated, Doyle looked at Bodie, waiting for his breathing to calm. His arms were on the verge of collapse, but he refused to give in to it for fear of doing his lover a mischief. Bodie hadn't come, his cock still rock hard lay flat against his stomach. Doyle came to an instant decision.

"Your turn mate."

"Eh?" Bodie looked at him quizzically.

"Want you to fuck me," he explained and watched with satisfaction as Bodie's eyes darkened with arousal.

Very carefully he pulled out of Bodie - thankfully his lover was fit enough not to have been too uncomfortable in such a cramped position. Leaning down, he snagged his still slightly damp teeshirt from the floor and wiped himself and Bodie.

Lying down, Bodie rolled onto him. "That was fucking amazing," he told Doyle and kissed him deeply. He pulled back. "Don't know how long I'm going to last. Not long."

"Do you want me on my back?" Doyle asked.

"Up to you. Would you prefer it on your stomach, then?"

Doyle looked up at Bodie and ran a hand through his short hair. Bodie's position had not been comfortable, and the angle he had thrust at was different to what he was used to. "Yeah, I'll lie on me front," he decided. "An' don't expect any more from this," he warned, picking up his flaccid cock. "You wore it out!" he grinned.

Bodie grinned back and then batted Doyle's hand away as he went to grasp his prick. "Don't touch! I'm close; won't last long."

Doyle shivered now that his body was beginning to cool down and his energy levels were low. Reaching out, he grabbed the jar of Vaseline and passed it to Bodie. "You'll have to anoint yourself then!"

Bodie did as he was told, ensuring his fingers were also well-lubricated. Doyle grabbed the pillows Bodie had used, and put them under his stomach, opening his legs to expose himself. The first and second fingers were fine, but the third began to feel uncomfortable. Bodie made no attempt this time to find that special spot - it wouldn't have made a difference if he had, since he was spent.

"Can't wait, Ray." Bodie murmured, as he removed his fingers.

His need was obvious to Doyle. "Go on mate, I'm ready as I'll ever be," he encouraged.

"Want you so much," Bodie admitted. There was something in the tone of this lover's voice which made Doyle glance over his shoulder. What he saw on Bodie's face was a look of vulnerability he'd never before witnessed, and he was willing to bet, few others had either. Doyle felt touched that Bodie trusted him enough to show his need - a need Bodie himself had only recently recognised.

Bodie gripped his hips and pulled him up slightly, before he felt a sharp pain as Bodie slowly nudged in the first inch. He tried panting, in an attempt to dissipate the pain. "S' alright," he encouraged, at Bodie's worried look. "Keep goin', I'm not made of glass!" he grinned.

Bodie pushed further and Doyle began to understand his lover's earlier description. Not much of a turn-on, he thought, but Bodie needs this.

It was with some surprise that he realised Bodie was fully sheathed and the pain hadn't increased - in fact, if anything, it had subsided. The feeling was totally alien - a strange fullness; but knowing that it was Bodie inside of him, was this turned on by him, had allowed him to be the first to do the same to him, gave him a sense of both wonder and power.

Bodie pulled back and thrust gently back in and Doyle pushed his hips back to meet the thrust. He repeated this, a little more forcefully.

"Yeah, Bodie," he urged. "Fuck me like I fucked you."

Bodie began to thrust hard, gasping each time. Every now and again, Doyle looked over his shoulder to see Bodie's face screwed up in concentration and effort, and felt a sense of elation. Bodie's gasps turned to grunts as his hips snapped his pelvis to Doyle's buttocks. Doyle could feel Bodie's balls slapping against his own, felt his engorged cock sliding inside of him, pushing against that erogenous place, and his own cock began to stir. The sense of fullness no longer bothered him.

Bodie stilled all movement, his eyes half open. When Doyle met his glance, Bodie's face softened as he smiled at him, the look one of lazy sensuality. His smile widened. "Look what you've done," he said grasping one of Bodie's hands and pulled it to his own hardened cock. "You're so fuckin' sexy, you've gone and woken the dead!"

Bodie grinned. "Like it when you talk dirty," he admitted. "Like you did the other night in front of the mirror."

Doyle began to milk himself in rhythm to Bodie's movements. "Fuck me Bodie! Wanna feel you shoot your cum inside me!"

"Yessss, gonna fuck your brains out."

"Come on, do it harder, want you deeper inside me," Doyle encouraged.

"I'm…."

Bodie's movement stilled for a moment as he groaned loudly, then a few more short thrusts as each spurt of cum shot itself deep inside him. Meanwhile, Doyle's hand was almost a blur as he milked himself, coming with a lush gasp. The spasms this set off made Bodie, still inside him, shudder.

"Blimey!"

"Yeah," agreed Bodie, as he carefully extricated himself from him.

Doyle leant over the side of the bed and with little enthusiasm, picked up a decidedly mucky teeshirt, making a mental note to dispose of it for good the following morning.

The two men settled themselves down, both fighting the urge to sleep.

"You OK?" Bodie asked, running a hand through Doyle's hair.

"Bum's a bit sore, but otherwise fine," Doyle grinned.

"Mine too!" He grimaced and added, "Gawd, hope we don't end up sitting down all day tomorrow!"

Doyle laughed. "Once the Cow knows, he might do that to us, just to punish us." The smile faded as he thought about what they were going to do.

"You sure you want to go through with it?" Bodie asked, a definite note of hope in his voice that Doyle might have changed his mind.

"Got to. We're a security risk now. We have to let him know. We owe him that much."

"Might not have a job this time tomorrow night," pointed out Bodie.

"It's a risk we've got to take." As he said that, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "I've not asked you how you feel about that," he realised.

Bodie ran a hand over his shoulder and upper arm. "You're right. He's got to know. I'm just a bit…well… a bit scared how he'll take it."

"Do you feel like you're lettin' him down?"

"Sort of; yes. But I feel I'd be letting him down if we didn't let on to him. I know I didn't want to say anything at first, but I suppose he's got a right to know."

The two men trailed off into silence, each deep in his own thoughts.

"Bloody hell, isn't 'arf hot in here," said Doyle after a while.

"Yeah, my hair's plastered to my head," Bodie lamented. "Wish we could open a window."

Kicking the duvet off the bed, Bodie turned onto his back and encouraged Doyle to rest his head on his shoulder, before wrapping his arm around him.

"Bodie?"

"Hmm?" came the sleepy reply.

"That night with Nicole. Why didn't you say anythin' about it at work the next day?"

Doyle had just begun to wonder whether Bodie had fallen asleep when he finally got an answer.

"Told you already that that was the first time I realised I wanted to take you to bed. I think I thought if we talked about it, what I was feeling might show. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," said Doyle. "When I look back, I can see that what we did then was pavin' the way for what we're doin' now."

Doyle felt Bodie's arm tighten around him as his lover placed an affectionate kiss on his head. A few minutes later, totally exhausted, they fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

CI5's two toughest operatives sat nervously outside George Cowley's office, their appointment time come and gone. Their positions were a study of contrasts: Doyle sat slouched low down on the chair, ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, all studied nonchalance. Bodie, on the other hand, was bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his head as the tension rolled off him.

Doyle yawned. He hadn't slept well last night with the stifling heat, and knew Bodie hadn't either. Having a hot body pressed against him hadn't helped, but he wouldn't have changed that for the world.

"If I didn't know him better," he remarked quietly, "I'd think the Old Man was doin' this deliberately, just to wind us up."

"Then you don't know him as well as you think you do," Bodie pointed out. "'Cos he probably is."

Any further discussion was interrupted by Betty telling them Mr. Cowley was ready to see them. As they entered, the CI5 Controller was gazing out of a window and didn't acknowledge their presence for several minutes.

With a deep sigh, Cowley turned to them. "I've just had a call from Old Cross Hospital," he said without preamble. "Mrs. Falkener was found dead early this morning at her home by her housekeeper - an overdose."

He studied the two men before him for any sign of what they thought of this news, but there was nothing on either face - no sorrow, no regret. From what he could gather of the woman, this would be the typical reaction of most people who had had dealings with her to this news. To say she was not well-liked was something of an understatement. Most of those he spoke to said she was calculating and manipulative. In his hand, he had evidence of this - her vindictiveness continuing even after her death.

Cowley turned back to the window. Outside the summer sun blazed down on London, but he saw none of it. "She left this note blaming her husband - saying she couldn't live with the humiliation of him leaving her for another man."

Doyle spoke up for the first time. "Falkener only stayed with his wife all those years, because she made him," he pointed out. "She admitted to me that she'd threatened to tell the press he was a homosexual if he left her. She knew he'd never keep his job if it became public. My god, look what they did to Jeremy Thorpe. Falkener was far more discreet in his affairs than she was. She got everything she wanted from him - his name, his money, his power."

"But not his love," Cowley added distractedly.

"At least when he realised he was in love with someone else, he had the decency to tell her. He could have kept it hidden and carried on living a lie."

Something in the tone of Doyle's voice made Cowley turn away from the window to look at him. Doyle was standing next to Bodie - very close to him, with a defiant look in his eyes. He shifted his glance to Bodie, who was standing at parade rest, looking at Doyle in a … strange way. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm bell was ringing but as yet, he was unable to determine the cause. Then, as he watched, Bodie took Doyle's hand in his own, their fingers intertwining, and slowly, so slowly, he met Cowley's gaze.

Time seemed to stand still. Outside came the shrill sound of a police siren, the doppler effect as it came and went, the noise of cars and buses motoring along the busy streets, all part of the general hubbub of a bustling capital city. In that one small action, nothing had been said, yet everything was understood.

No-one would later be able to recall how long they had stood there like a frozen tableau, a moment stretching into eternity. In that room, time itself seemed to stand still as past, present and future all met in that one instant. Only one of them had any real power over the future, and with that power, he broke the spell as he moved to sit at his desk, motioning his two operatives to take chairs. The two men broke apart and did as they were bid.

"I see," he said finally, his voice deceptively calm. Before he lost his temper, he'd see what they had to say for themselves.

"If you know, we're not a security risk, are we?" said Doyle, a defensive tone creeping into his voice.

Cowley appeared to ignore the remark as he examined Bodie's face. "And have you got anything to say for yourself?"

"No sir. There's nothing to say."

"How long?" he demanded to know.

"A few days," replied Bodie.

"Days?" Cowley actually looked shocked for the first time. His patience was fast running out.

"It's not a passing phase, if that's what you're thinking," said Doyle quickly. "Neither of us wants to end up making the same mistakes Julian Falkener did. It only ends in trouble."

"My god, if I didn't know better, considering this last assignment, I'd think it was contagious." Cowley's voice was gruff, with a note of disbelief. "Tell me it isn't a coincidence."

"No, you're right, it's not coincidence. The job probably acted as a catalyst. But me and Ray have talked about it and we both think it was inevitable."

"Why was it inevitable?" Cowley demanded to know, as he rose from his desk to close the gap between himself and his operatives. "What the hell are you two thinking about, for god's sake?"

Cowley's voice was raised enough to make Doyle wince as he quickly tried to think of an answer to a question he hadn't yet asked himself. Of one thing he was certain, bringing love into it would be a mistake. Cowley just wasn't ready for that yet.

"We've been practically living together for nearly a year anyway." Too late, he realised that sounded lame.

"So what?" Unsatisfied, Cowley turned to Bodie. "You've lived in close quarters with men most of your adult life. So what's different now…?" He eyed Bodie shrewdly, a threatening note entering his voice as he quietly asked, "…or is there something you failed to tell me during your recruitment to CI5?"

Bodie leant forward in his chair, an indignant look on his face. "Nothing more than you already know," he snapped back, then running his fingers through his hair, he took a calming breath. "Look, we haven't basically changed, it's just that…well, this way there's not going to be any more letting birds down and having them chuck us in, any more sleepless nights wishing you had someone there with you after we've had a bad day…"

As Bodie recited this, Cowley's colour rose, both from embarrassment at his frankness and in anger at Bodie's failure to take one major point into consideration. "My god man," he shouted, taking a step nearer them, "don't you understand? There isn't going to be any reason for letting your girlfriends down. You've just as good as signed your resignation papers. And before I lose my two best men, I want to know why."

"Maybe it was there all along," said Doyle calmly, having had a little time to reflect. "We just didn't realise it until now. But I can tell you one thing," he added before Cowley could say anything, "It's not goin' to go away."

"So what are you going to do with us, sir?" asked Bodie quietly.

"Didn't you hear what I just said, 3.7? As soon as I put this on your records, you'll be out of here so fast your feet won't touch the ground." Cowley was confused as to why they seemed so unconcerned. Maybe they wanted out anyway. Neither, as he would have expected, was showing an iota of regret and this inflamed him. "And I can tell you now," he added, in an attempt to push the point home, although he really couldn't believe they could be that naive, "that the closest to security work you two are ever likely to get will be watching for shop-lifters in high street shops."

Cowley really couldn't believe that his two best men had just flung their careers down the drain for such a ridiculous reason. Despite what Doyle had said, he wanted to believe that this was a temporary affair. An experimentation. Yet, the fact that they had the same zealous look on their faces as religious converts didn't make him feel very confident of that belief.

"So, don't record it," said Doyle quietly.

Cowley looked angry. "Are you suggesting…"

"What I'm suggesting," Doyle interrupted, "is that you treat this like you do an Operation Suzie. No records. You know and we know and that's all who need to."

"Do you know what you're asking?" Cowley sounded incredulous. Of course as head of CI5, he'd bent the rules often enough in the past and got away with it to know he could do it again. Yet, this wasn't in the same league as the other occasions, since in all the other cases, it was a quick means to an end. What they were asking was an on-going violation of national security rules. And in security circles, these two agents, above all others in his organisation, were very high profile. Even with the power invested in him by the Government, this request was teetering on the impossible. He resented them for putting him in the position where he'd have to make a decision like this.

"Yes sir. We want to stay here and we think you want us to as well. At least this way everyone wins."

Cowley took a deep, calming breath and stared at his two best men. It was true, he certainly didn't want to lose them. All that money invested in them. And they were his best. His duty was to amend the records now that they had told him…. A light dawned. They hadn't actually said anything, had they? Hadn't actually come right out and said they were having a homosexual affair. So…

Cowley looked at Bodie and the pieces began to fall into place.

"I'm sorry," Bodie said quietly, confirming his suspicions.

Cowley was angry that they were manipulating him in this way. Certainly none of his other operatives would have got away with it, but, he acknowledged, these two were different. They all had too much to lose for him to let his pride speak. He'd done enough of that during the war when he could blame the conceited, brash arrogance of youth. More than one life had been cut down in its prime as a result of an ill-informed decision he'd made. That inexperienced officer had learnt the hard way that life was too short. Oh yes, he'd learnt many bitter lessons then.

Now he had a chance to make amends and this time go against the establishment when there wasn't actually a national crisis. He felt a rising hope as he walked back to his seat, using the time to gather his thoughts. Maybe he could make this work…

As he looked at his two operatives sitting there with a practised eye, he realised that Bodie's stance was no longer that of studied nonchalance. There was a definite note of tension - arms defensively crossed his chest, where before his hands had been lightly clasped in his lap. Doyle was definitely leaning closer to Bodie and droplets of sweat had formed on his upper lip. So, it seemed it mattered more to them than they might be willing to admit to him. That's what he had suspected. And he felt inordinately pleased.

He leant back in his chair, feeling for the first time, as if he actually had control of this situation. "Ach, don't apologise, Bodie. I went through all this during the war, when everyone was more tolerant - mind you, we were so short of people, we couldn't afford not to be. There were lots of perfectly good men who never made it into the Forces because of their… proclivities. It didn't stop them being damn fine agents. I just never expected it of you two, of all people…" Cowley trailed off, deep in thought while the two men on the other side of the desk sat there, waiting for their destiny.

There was much to be considered and thought through and there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind which he had no time to ferret out and analyse. He had a busy work schedule ahead of him, starting with an urgent request from the Minister that morning for a meeting. More intriguing, the Minister was visiting him at the CI5 HQ.

Cowley sighed, bringing his thoughts back to the present problem. Much as Bodie and Doyle might have wanted it, he was not going to make a decision now. He looked up. "I've got a meeting in five minutes."

He picked up an open envelope from his desk and delving inside, pulled out a key. "This came for Murphy this morning, marked urgent. There was no note, just a left-luggage key for Victoria Station. Go and collect whatever it is and bring it to me. Then you're both off duty for 24 hours to give me time to think on all this."

Neither man, Cowley noted as Bodie took the key from him, looked as elated at the news of a day off as they would normally be - a sign of their tension over the uncertainty of their future in CI5.

With that dismissal, he donned his glasses and began to read one of the papers on his desk, not even bothering to watch them leave. However, the moment he heard the door close, he removed his glasses, and leaning back heavily in his chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stared sightless out of the window. No-one ever said that running CI5 was going to be easy. But then again, he never imagined it would be this difficult.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. The Minister had arrived.

 

The short drive to Victoria Station had been filled with chatter about how they could spend their free day. Now, sitting outside the concourse, Doyle found he had a problem.

"I don't need you to nursemaid me," he told Bodie irritably.

"I'm not. We don't know what's in that locker, so I want to go with you. I don't see what your problem is."

"My problem," said Doyle, "is that last week you'd've let me go in alone."

Bodie remained silent, staring out the window, unmoving except for his clenching jaw muscle.

"Deny it Bodie," he dared his partner.

"OK. I won't deny it then."

"Right…" Doyle said, and made to open the door.

"Ray," Bodie put out his hand, stopping him.

The note of anguish in his voice caught Doyle's immediate attention.

"Things have changed between us," said Bodie quietly, apparently unable to meet his gaze. "Last week if anything'd happened to you, I'd've lost a partner. Now, I'd be losing a lover too…"

Doyle slumped back in his seat, wondering how much that admission had cost his normally circumspect partner. He realised too that he was being unfair on Bodie. Now that their relationship had changed and deepened, they were going to have to make allowances for each other and accept with some grace their greater concerns for each other's well-being.

"What are you waitin' for?" he said gruffly to Bodie. "Hang about here much longer and we'll get a parkin' ticket. C'mon."

Bodie grinned. "Yeah, well we're here for Cowley, so he can pay it."

Their adrenaline running high, they exercised extreme caution when opening the box, only to discover with considerable anticlimax that the contents proved to be another innocuous envelope, again marked for Murphy.

Back at HQ, they arrived just in time to see the Minister leave. That meant, Doyle hoped, they would be able to deliver the envelope and get out of there before Cowley changed his mind. And they didn't want him doing that now that they'd decided on the way back to spend a day sunning themselves on a beach somewhere on the south coast.

Reaching the Controller's office, they found Anson about to enter. "On a nice assignment?" he asked, as Bodie and Doyle seemed to be smiling broadly.

"Just got to give this to Cowley and then he's given us 24 hours off for good behaviour," said Bodie beaming. "You gonna be long?"

"I think you may be interested in hearing what I've got to say," Anson suggested.

Doyle glanced at Bodie, meeting the blue gaze, each knowing the other was thinking the same thing. If Anson thought it was something which concerned them, Cowley might think so too.

"Did you get it?" Cowley asked as Bodie entered just ahead of Anson.

As his partner handed over the envelope, Doyle hung back outside the door, knowing it was a futile thing to do.

"Did you want something, Anson?" Doyle heard Cowley ask.

"We have a witness to suggest Mrs. Falkener may have been murdered," said Anson without preliminaries. Outside the office, Doyle groaned quietly as he saw their free time disappearing in a puff of smoke. Since there was no point staying where he was, he entered and one glance at Bodie's glum face and he knew his partner had arrived at the same conclusion. They exchanged frustrated looks.

Removing his glasses, Cowley stood up and walked towards them, Murphy's envelope for the moment forgotten. "Go on." His face looked bleak.

"Remember Dr. Carter - she got there ahead of me when Mrs. Falkener shot her husband? She works at Old Cross hospital. One of her colleagues phoned her when Mrs. Falkener's body had just been brought in. Although it was her day off, she went in and assisted the pathologist in the post mortem. That's when she found out that the time of death was half an hour before she claims a house guest visiting Mrs. Falkener last night left. She gave me a brief description of him too. She says she hasn't told anyone, just called here immediately asking for me."

"I was told by the hospital she died from an overdose," Cowley pointed out.

"She did. But it's possible she took the pills under duress," Anson suggested.

Cowley digested that for a moment. "She had a visitor you say? How is she so sure about the time the guest left?" It was an obvious question. "I know they're neighbours, but if I recall correctly from your report, the houses are detached, are they not? And set in their own grounds?"

"They are, but being in the middle of nowhere, sound travels," Anson pointed out. As Anson continued, Bodie and Doyle remained silent as they leant against the door.

"Just as the nine o'clock news started, Carter says she heard raised voices - an argument between Mrs. Falkener and a man. She knew the husband was still in hospital and apparently their son is abroad, so it couldn't have been him. She says she went to bed just before midnight and because she was hot, she left the windows open. She couldn't sleep and remembers hearing the village clock strike 12. A car pulled out of the Falkeners' drive about ten minutes after that. But time of death was established as at or before 11:30."

"This doesn't bode well," murmured Cowley. "Apparently Mrs. Falkener sent tele-messages to a number of press agencies, naming several prominent MPs she claimed to have had affairs with over the years, as well as disclosing details of her husband's homosexuality. The Prime Minister is powerless to do anything about it as we have no idea who the letters were sent to. The London Evening News is about to go to press with the story - it'll be all over the news by lunch time. If she was murdered, then she may have been put up to this - which goes with what the Minister was saying." Cowley seemed almost to be talking to himself.

"Sir?" Bodie asked, when the Controller was quiet for a minute.

He moved back towards his desk and perched on the edge of it. "The Prime Minister is convinced that someone is conducting a nasty smear campaign against the government to prevent them getting back into power. Judging by the opinion polls, it's working. As yet, we have no idea who is behind it."

"The Opposition party?" suggested Doyle, already resigned to the fact they could kiss goodbye to their day by the sea.

"No, we don't think so," said Cowley. "Even they're not that dirty. Jax is still working on the case which ruined Defence Minister Douglas McAllister. Then there was Transport Minister, Rupert Taylor-Smith. Next to go was the replacement Defence Minister, Philip Hargreaves, with his forced resignation following his involvement with Mrs. Falkener. Those last two were ready to attempt to publicly discredit Julian Falkener, and now Mrs. Falkener's list of love affairs, all with very senior MPs, is about to hit the tabloids. Mrs. Falkener may have single-handedly buried this government. I believe if her death was murder, then finding out who was behind it may lead us to whoever orchestrated this treasonous campaign."

"But if it's not the Opposition," said Bodie, "who else would want to see this government go?"

"Ach, any number of political factions here and abroad, Bodie. Think man - you've worked for organisations which specialise in this kind of thing," Cowley pointed out irritably.

At those harsh words, Doyle glanced at Bodie and noticed a look of complete neutrality on his face - always a sign he was covering up how he was really feeling. He could read Bodie like a book - and now more than ever, he realised.

"The Prime Minister has got tough on terrorism," Cowley continued, "and the efficacy of this government's policies shows in five years a drop of 75% in the number of recorded terrorist attacks and aircraft hijacks in this country."

"Why kill Mrs. Falkener?" Anson asked no-one in particular.

"Maybe she knew too much, or perhaps she was just a pawn," suggested Cowley.

"Falkener's in hospital and his lover's still in the Middle East," Bodie pointed out, speaking for the first time, "so you can count them out."

"Falkener could've hired a contract killer," said Anson.

"Why do it to his own party?" asked Doyle.

"It could be a double bluff," said Cowley. "We were tipped off about him by a Soviet spy who defected. We then had information that it was a plot hatched between Mrs. Falkener and Hargreaves. But what if it's true and he is working for someone like the Soviets? It would make a lot of sense. Détente has been at an all-time low since this Government came to power…"

Bodie shook his head. "No, its only a gut feeling, but I think he's innocent."

"Hang on!" said Doyle. "How do we know what this Carter woman is saying is right. All the evidence she's given us so far - an' that's pretty sketchy - is circumstantial."

"You're right, of course 4.5," said Cowley. "But I have it from the highest level that we have to get to the bottom of this, so we have to follow up every lead, no matter how implausible. I want you and 3.7 to go back to Little Malding and interview Dr. Carter."

"Sir," Bodie protested. "Can't someone else do this?"

The hapless operative was pinned by a steely blue glare from his boss. "Are you questioning my orders, 3.7?"

"No sir. But you just gave us…"

"That," interrupted Cowley, "was before we had a possible murder investigation, not to mention a conspiracy against the Government. I have a feeling Carter is on to something and since you two are already involved in this case, you can continue. I want you to get as much information out of her as you can. Then go and look over Falkener's house - see if you can find anything - anything at all, which would give us clues to any of this."

"What about Julian Falkener?" asked Doyle. "Shall we go back to him?"

"No," said Cowley adamantly. "Leave him out of this for the time being. Oh, and don't forget to let the local police know you're going into the Falkener house. If they press charges for breaking and entering, don't expect me to bail you out."

Bodie smiled despite the loss of their day off. At least the Cow was acting fairly normally, he noted. Perhaps if they could show that nothing outwardly had changed between them, it might help their case.

"Anson, you get down to records and see if you dig anything up that will refute Mrs. Falkener's claims against this list of MPs." He handed Anson a copy of the telemessage.

With that he looked back at Bodie and Doyle. "Are you still cluttering up my office? On your bikes you two. And don't come back until you've got some results."

The three men left Cowley's office and as soon as the door had shut, Doyle looked at Anson, a decidedly dejected expression on his face as he held out his hand. "Right there, in the palm of me hand, it was," he said mournfully. "Twenty four hours leave. Why did you have to go an' open your big trap, Anson?"

"Would hate the thought of you two missing out on all the fun," the operative grinned. "Just think - you two lucky bastards get to go out for a nice drive in the country while I sweat it out down in records."

Following them to their office to give them Dr. Carter's address, he pulled out a half-smoked cigar butt from his jacket pocket.

"Euch!" said Doyle, theatrically. "Let's get out of here - he's about to light that bloomin' thing."

Bodie continued to rummage about in his desk drawer. "Got 'em!" he declared, holding up a pair of sunglasses triumphantly.

"C'mon Bodie," Doyle said, grabbing his partner's arm, "before he fumigates this place."

They could still hear the sound of Anson's rich chuckle as they entered the lift.

"Pity this lift doesn't allow privacy," Doyle remarked, as he bestowed an uninhibited look on his partner.

"Have your hormones gone into hyperdrive or something?"

"Or something," grinned Doyle wickedly. "C'n hardly keep me hands off you. Dunno how I managed it for so long." He sounded genuinely surprised at this. "Don't you feel the same?"

Bodie's look said it all.

"Fuck, how do you do that? Now see what you've done," Doyle complained. They both stared at the front of his tight trousers, where the bulge was even more prominent than usual. As he looked back up, Bodie was grinning.

"I'll have to think of somewhere nice and isolated we can stop on our way," Bodie grinned. "It's a long way to drive without a rest, and I wouldn't want you feeling frustrated all day…"

"You're all heart, you know that?" Doyle laughed back.

Outside, the weather promised to be hot again; gone was the early morning chill that had been with them on their arrival. Doyle stopped at the door and held his face up to the sky, letting the warmth of the sun caress him.

"Pity we've got to work, innit?" he remarked at Bodie's retreating back.

Bodie turned around. "At least we've still got a job today."

Damn, thought Doyle. There goes his good mood. However, now the subject had been broached, he thought he may as well follow it up. "You don't think we should have told him."

He waited as Bodie studied his face whilst considering the statement. "No, you were right," he said finally. "We had to do it."

Doyle could almost see Bodie shake off the air of despondency as he added, "C'mon Ray, this isn't really the place to be discussing it."

In the car park, their cars stood side by side.

"Who's drivin'?" Doyle asked the question on both their minds.

"Toss you for it," Bodie suggested with a leer.

"Tell you what," Doyle grinned back, "you drive an' I'll toss you!"

"Sounds dangerous. Maybe you can do that later."

The journey out of London was relatively clear, going against the flow of the back end of the morning rush hour.

Doyle stared out of the window, watching as the buildings thinned out and the green areas between got bigger. This close to London, the landscape was flat and uninteresting. "What do you make of this conspiracy theory?" he asked, after a while.

"Dunno, seems a bit far-fetched. But it all makes sense, when you think about it. I mean, MPs are dickheads at the best of times, but there's been a lot more doing stupid things than usual in the last few weeks."

"An' right before the elections too," Doyle added.

"Yeah. An' I don't believe in coincidences. If this Carter woman's right about the timings, she might hold the key to the whole thing."

They lapsed into silence for awhile, again broken by Doyle. "What do you think Cowley's gonna do about us?" He knew Bodie had no more idea than he did, but he wanted to talk to him about it.

"Who knows? Never been able to work him out." Bodie paused for a moment, as if considering the question, then added, "He took it better than I thought he would though."

"Yeah. At least he didn't throw us out there an' then. And the look on his face when we held hands…" He chuckled despite himself. "You could see the penny drop."

Bodie remained silent, and Doyle guessed it was because he'd been uncomfortable with what they had done. Perhaps Bodie was feeling as though he'd let Cowley down, though if that were the case, he couldn't for the life of him think why.

Rather than risk a morose partner for the duration of the journey, he decided to change the subject. "How's your bum," he asked cheerfully.

"Still a bit sore," grinned Bodie. "Yours?"

"Bit tender," he agreed. "An' sittin' in a car all day isn't gonna help much," he added mournfully.

"If you're a good boy, I might kiss it better later," threatened Bodie with a smile.

"And what do I have to do to be a good boy?" Doyle wondered aloud.

"Toss me for it! Isn't that what you promised?"

"Hah! You're on, mate!" Doyle laughed.

They lapsed into silence, deep in their own thoughts. Eventually, a combination of heat, the car's rocking motion and a hot and restless night caused Doyle to doze off. He was woken gently by Bodie as they entered the quiet village of Little Malden.

"Oi, Sleeping Beauty. We're nearly there."

Doyle stretched and wound down his window in an attempt to get some fresh air to his sleep-fogged brain.

"Thought we were gonna stop somewhere on the way," said Doyle, feeling disappointed.

"Decided it was too risky," explained Bodie. "Where does Carter live?"

Doyle pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the front pocket of his jeans and squinted at it. "The Willows, Faversham Road. Faversham? That sounds familiar…" He pulled out the road atlas. "OK, it's a village to the north, look for a signpost."

Driving slowly along the main road, they almost missed the turning. "What's the point of putting a signpost so close to a tree that half the branches cover it up?" He asked, exasperated.

"Maybe the last time the council people were here, it was winter," suggested Bodie placidly.

"There's the house on the right."

Bodie pulled into the gravel drive which swept around the front of the property in a large crescent. The house was double-fronted, detached and made of grey stone over three storeys. Typical of the Queen Anne style, it had small panes in large windows which were proportionally smaller on each storey, and a front porch supported by Doric columns that sheltered a large double door.

"Blimey, this is a bit posh."

"Yeah, all the houses round here are," agreed Doyle. "Doubt she bought it out of the money she earns as a doctor."

Bodie pulled up under a tree so that the car wouldn't resemble a furnace when they got back in. As they got out of the car, Dr. Carter came out to meet them. Tall and plump, her hair was short, grey and wavey, looking to Doyle to be in her fifties and typical of what he considered to be the country set. He was certain if the weather had been cooler, she'd have been wearing tweeds and green wellies - instead she had a light floral dress decorated with a long rope of pearls.

She greeted the two men warily. "Mr. Anson phoned to say you were on your way."

"I'm Ray Doyle, and my partner Bodie," he said, holding out his hand.

"Geraldine Carter. Come inside, it's cooler there."

She was right and after their long car journey, the lower temperature was a blessed relief. Once inside the large front door, the hallway was wide and oak-panelled with a large oak staircase leading up to a first floor galleried landing. There were rooms off the hall on both sides and Carter led them past the staircase towards one which Doyle guessed correctly looked out over the back.

"This is my study," she explained. "Make yourselves comfortable. Would you care for some tea or coffee?"

Both men, already feeling entirely too hot, turned down her offer.

Two dark green leather chesterfield sofas sat on either side of an ingle nook fireplace. The sofas, Doyle noted, were of a design which encouraged its occupants to sit upright. Opposite the fireplace was a desk behind which were large windows overlooking a lawn that swept down to a small stream. Two of the four walls had floor to ceiling shelving, housing an impressive selection of books. As Doyle passed them, he noticed many of those on the shelves nearest him were spy and thriller novels.

His heart sank. That's all we need, he thought to himself. A bleedin' Miss Marple wannabe. She's probably makin' the whole lot up and we've lost a day off because of it. A scowl unintentionally marred his face which Bodie noticed as he glanced at him. As they sat down, both men were frowning for different reasons.

Carter sat on the sofa opposite, looking a little nervous, Doyle thought, as she fiddled with her necklace. Leaning forward she said, "It's hard to believe we've had a murder in Little Malding - it's like something out of a thriller."

Doyle's frown deepened. "There's no evidence to suggest that Mrs. Falkener was murdered, Dr. Carter," he reminded her rather more forcibly than he'd intended.

Carter didn't notice the tone and smiled a little awkwardly. "Oh, but there is, Mr. Doyle. As I've already told that nice Mr. Anson…" Bodie snorted quietly at that, "…I know that there was still someone in the house after she'd died. And I've done a further check since then. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Falkener was prescribed those pills by their doctor…"

"A friend could have given them to her…" cut in Doyle.

Carter seemed to be gaining confidence as she answered that point: "The police brought in the bottle to our path lab to make sure the residue from the contents and the label agreed and I got a look at it. The label had her name on it."

"I take it you didn't get on that well with Mrs. Falkener," commented Bodie, a slight smile playing about his lips.

Carter smiled back. "Not particularly. She was a very difficult woman and not terribly well-liked in the village." That the comment was an understatement, hung in the air between them.

"Could she have been prescribed the pills by another doctor?" Doyle asked, still pursuing the previous line of questioning.

"Not without permission from her own doctor. Mrs. Falkener was being treated for a heart condition. Some medication can have nasty side effects when mixed with other drugs, so anyone prescribing them to her would have had to have contacted her GP first. I've already spoken to Dr. Schofield - and nobody had." She stopped and waited expectantly.

He had to hand it to her, Doyle realised. Despite initial appearances, she did seem to know what she was on about - even if she was a bit batty. In fact, she'd already saved them some legwork. "Why don't you start by telling us exactly what you told Anson," he suggested, the hard edge gone from his voice.

"Before I begin, would you like some lunch? You've had a long drive…"

Bodie's stomach took that moment to grumble audibly. "Ray?"

The hopeful look on his face was too pathetic for Doyle to ignore. He smiled indulgently at his partner before turning to Dr.Carter. "Yeah, would be nice."

Leaving the study, they turned towards the back of the house and went down a narrower passage - part of a later extension on one part of the property, Doyle guessed.

Pausing at the doorway to the kitchen, she indicated an exit at the end and said, "There's a table on the patio, I'll bring something out."

Outside, Doyle took a deep breath, inhaling an intoxicating mixture of new-mown grass and sun-warmed pine which emanated from a row of trees along the boundary wall of the garden. The nearby stream flowed silently by, the only noise to be heard were birds calling occasionally to each other. In front of them stood a table complete with a large blue and green-striped shade and chairs with matching cushions. Since they weren't overlooked here, they removed their jackets and sat down, Bodie automatically going for a seat in the shade. Looking back at the house, the wall with the study windows was covered in a well-established climbing rose, the lawn going right up to the windows at that point. Near to where they sat was the kitchen, which Doyle could now see was a much newer part of the house, with modern french windows, currently wide open, leading straight out onto the patio.

"What do you think?" Doyle asked quietly, aware that Carter was not far away.

Bodie leant back in the chair, and clasping his hands behind his head, stretched the muscles which had become cramped during the long drive. "Dunno, she seems harmless enough. What she's saying is a bit far-fetched though," he admitted.

Doyle was momentarily distracted by Bodie's movements and when caught by Bodie, smiled fondly.

"Your mind seems to be on one track and it's got nothing to do with work," Bodie commented indulgently.

"Shouldn't look so good," Doyle pointed out with a smile. "I'm only human, after all," he added, before forcing his mind back onto current matters. "Did you notice what most of her books were about?" Bodie shook his head. "Didn't think you had," said Doyle. "It's me copper's trainin'. She's into who-done-its."

Bodie glanced at the house and leant forward. "You think she's making it all up?"

"Not about the pills, no." Doyle shrugged. "We'll have to see about the rest."

"But being a doctor, she may be less inclined to jump to conclusions," Bodie pointed out.

"Yeah, and being a thriller fan, she may have an over-active imagination. And you notice how bloody nervous she is? Like a cat on a hot tin roof."

Carter reappeared, preventing further discussion, carrying a fully-laden tray. This time it was Doyle's stomach which growled impatiently.

The doctor set the tray down, making an obviously conscious effort not to stare at their holstered guns which had been revealed when they'd removed their jackets. Tuna salad, cold pasta and large hunks of bread, followed by home-made summer pudding and fresh cream. This was washed down with what Doyle decided tasted suspiciously like Ribena, a drink he hadn't had since he was a kid. All of it went down a treat, leaving both men replete. The thanks Carter received were quite genuine.

"I know all about metabolisms and the human digestive system in glorious detail," she smiled, "yet I still find myself surprised by the amount some young men can eat without it having any noticeable effect on their physique."

"Our boss gives us more than enough work to burn off any excess calories," said Bodie, smiling. "That said…."

"Can we continue where we left off, Dr. Carter?" interrupted Doyle, before the two of them could get into a conversation about eating habits; food being a subject close to Bodie's heart - not to mention his stomach - he could sense his partner warming to the subject.

"Of course, my apologies." She sounded contrite, immediately making Doyle feel a bit of a heel. Bodie threw him a dirty look.

"Sorry," said Doyle. "It's just we have quite a lot to do and we've got a long drive back."

"Of course," she said, fully understanding. "And before I forget…." She passed a set of keys from the tray, "…Mr. Anson asked me to get those for you. I understand you're going to look around next door." She looked at Bodie and added, "He said something about your amateur skills not being up to their security." She smiled. "Julian had quite a sophisticated burglar system fitted a couple of years ago. Close circuit cameras and the like…."

"Do you think…?" Bodie looked excitedly at Doyle.

"If we're lucky. Find out, won't we?" he grinned.

Carter looked bemused at their half-conversation. Doyle turned back to her, apologising and asking her to continue.

"Mrs. Falkener's visitor arrived almost on the dot of nine - the news had just started - full of electioneering politicians…"

"You heard him arrive? In a car?"

"Yes, you know how frightfully hot it was last night…" She missed the amused look that passed between them, as she stared fixedly at her lap. "I wasn't long back from the hospital and was sitting out here, trying to cool down. It was still quite light, although the sun had set. I heard a car pull up next door. I knew it couldn't have been Julian Falkener, since he's still at the hospital or their son, because he's working in the States. To be honest, I assumed it was one of her male friends and thought it was a bit much, what with her having shot her husband the day before, and him still recovering." Her mouth was a thin line, plainly indicating her disapproval.

The doctor's statement indicated that Mrs. Falkener's activities were well-known. Probably why she wouldn't have won any village popularity contests, thought Doyle.

"Shortly after that," continued Carter, "I went in and was sitting in the study reading, when I heard raised voices - an argument."

"Could you hear what it was about?" Doyle asked hopefully.

Carter shook her head. "Although the windows were open, I couldn't really hear specific words. Anyway, things went quiet after that. I went to bed, but couldn't sleep because of the heat. It was just after the village clock had rung midnight that I heard the car start up and leave."

"Could it have been 11 o'clock?" asked Doyle.

"No, I stayed up to watch The Sky at Night - I'm rather a fan of Patrick Moore and astronomy fascinates me," she explained. "The programme doesn't finish until 11:20. I went to bed some time after that, but couldn't sleep because of the heat."

"I understand you saw the visitor." Having seen the distance between the two houses and the general layout, Doyle wondered how accurate her description might be. If he'd arrived at around 9pm, at that time of year, the sun wouldn't have yet set, so it might well have been light enough for her to get a good look at him. But, with high boundary walls wouldn't have made it easy. "How did you manage to see what he looked like?" He watched with interest as she blushed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Bodie had noticed too and was sitting upright, waiting.

When she didn't answer immediately Doyle, intrigued by her reaction, tried again with a leading question - the only possible answer anyway. "Was it from one of the rooms that overlook their house?"

Carter began to play nervously with her beads again, the blush heightening, if that was possible. She bit her lip and then met Doyle's eyes and he realised with a start that there were unshed tears there.

"I knew you'd ask me," she said cryptically. "When I called Mr. Anson, I didn't think anyone would come all the way here to speak to me. Now you've been here, I can't lie and say I saw him in the drive or from a window; as you can see the houses aren't that close."

The two CI5 agents exchanged a momentary look.

"I've been a rather lonely old woman since my husband died. I spend most of the time I'm not working alone here in this house, and sometimes I feel so bored and isolated…"

She trailed off and a knot began to grow in Doyle's stomach. Oh god, I knew it! he thought savagely. Bodie was obviously thinking the same think, judging by the grim look on his face.

"I often watched what she got up to with my telescope," she announced.

Doyle was unable to suppress a surprised look and in his peripheral vision he caught Bodie doing a double take.

"Oh I don't creep around the village looking in everyone's windows," she explained with a note of irony in her voice. "Just in Mrs. Falkener's windows - or rather window." She cast her eyes down again, unable to meet the green gaze. "One of my top rooms overlooks her bedroom. One day a few years ago, I discovered that she never closed the curtains or turned out the light when she had one of her boyfriends around. I'd read about a comet and was looking for it with my little telescope; by accident I noticed her in bed with another man. After that, I went up almost nightly to see what she was up to. I did stop doing that for a while, but it held some strange fascination for me, for some reason and I started looking again." She sighed heavily. "I'm sure a psychologist would be able to tell you why I do it."

"And last night….?" Doyle prompted.

"They didn't go to bed. I thought he was tucking her up at the time…"

"I know you've already told Anson, but could you give us a description?" Doyle asked gently.

"He wasn't in the line of sight much, so I didn't get a good look. I've never seen him before - he was in his 50s, I'd say. Tallish - 6 foot perhaps - wearing a suit. Fairly slim build. Oh, and his hair looked completely white."

"Would you be able to pick him out of an identity parade, do you think?" Doyle asked.

"I'm not sure…" She looked off into the distance for a while, as the two main waited patiently. "Perhaps," she said finally. "Oh god, this is all so embarrassing. What must you think of me? Will you need to tell anyone else?" She looked genuinely mortified at the thought.

"No, we won't need to go into that much detail," Bodie reassured her.

"Did you get a look at the car he was driving?"

"It was quite big…and red, I think." She shrugged. "I'm not awfully well-up on cars, I'm afraid. One looks much like another…"

"That's OK," Doyle said, trying to reassure her. "And thanks for being so candid," he added. "It can't have been easy."

"I knew I was going to have to tell you. All my bravado earlier was because I was frightened and worried about what you'd think. I put off telling you as long as I could. Will you have to arrest me now? I'm sure spying on people is an offence."

"It can be in certain cases, but honestly, we won't be doing anything," Doyle promised.

The tension seemed to leave Carter. "You must think me a silly old woman. It's hard to believe my job carries so much responsibility when you see me like this."

"You've been a lot of help," Doyle said, and meant it too. "What we need to do is to take a good look over their house - see if we can find anythin' that might give us a clue to who killed her. Can I use your phone?"

The local police station duly alerted to the fact that two CI5 agents were going to be entering the Falkener property, the two men took their leave of Dr. Carter.

"Thank you for being so understanding," she said, standing in the doorway.

"Ta for a great lunch," Bodie answered, the sincerity in his voice obvious.

Doyle grinned. "Feed Bodie a decent meal and you've got a friend for life!"

She smiled at them, and for the first time since her 'confession', it was without any self-consciousness. "Oh and please feel free to leave your car there while you're next door... Oh! I've just remembered…"

"Yeah?" Bodie encouraged.

"That car last night…it had a thing on the bonnet…you know, like a Rolls Royce, only it wasn't."

"Round?" Doyle asked. "A Mercedes?"

"No, like a tiger or something."

"A Jaguar," Bodie said to Doyle.

"Yes, that's it! A Jaguar." She looked pleased with herself.

Bodie thanked her and the two men took their leave of her.

 

While the day could not be described as hot by tropical standards, it was hot for England and the high humidity made the air feel sticky. By the time they'd reached the front door of Falkener's house, Bodie's shirt and Doyle's teeshirt under their jackets were plastered to their bodies with sweat. As Bodie fiddled with various locks on the door, Doyle could see Anson had been right - he'd seen his partner break in before, but this door would most certainly have defeated him. If it hadn't, then the company which fitted it would have deserved to be sued.

Inside, it was mercifully cool and both men immediately removed their jackets. "Let me help you," suggested Doyle with a leer, hands reaching out to Bodie's shirt buttons. The fingers were batted away.

"Cameras," Bodie whispered the reminder to his partner.

"Doctor Carter was somethin' else, wasn't she?" Doyle commented. He grinned and added, "Never thought she would have had it in her!"

Bodie chuckled. "Thought that was the whole problem mate." At Doyle's confused look, he elaborated, "She never had it in her, that's why she watched someone else having it in them instead!" Bodie managed, only just, to avoid his partner's swinging fist.

They located the windowless security room and found, to their surprise, the whole system switched off and all the tapes missing.

"You reckon the police did that this morning? Bodie asked.

"Doubt it - why would they?" Doyle opened a cabinet and found that empty. He shook his head. "I reckon we've got a pro here. Doubt whether the average visitor would even be aware of all this."

Standing up, he gazed at Bodie's back, his eyes drawn to the rounded buttocks, as his lover played around with one of the video recorders. He was feeling exceptionally randy, and you couldn't get more private than the room they were in, he thought to himself with an inner smile. He felt certain Bodie would be up to it too. Closing the gap between them, he plastered himself against Bodie's back and meeting no resistance, wrapped his arms about him, folding them over the broad chest. Inhaling, he smelt Bodie's sweat and it reminded him immediately of the previous night. He hardened both at the memory and the anticipation of what was to come. Bodie's exposed neck deserved a kiss, he decided, and bestowed several just below one ear before licking gently at the lobe.

Bodie leant back against him. "Ray," he whispered hoarsely.

"Find you irresistible," Doyle explained, then chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Isn't this how we started - only the positions reversed?"

"Yeah. Was beautiful. I was watching everything in the mirror. Couldn't believe I was getting away with it."

Doyle smiled at Bodie's words.

"When you hit me…"

"Didn't think you'd go through with the kiss," Doyle explained, "'cos you'd already said only lovers kissed. It never occurred to me that you might class yourself as my lover; thought you were settin' me up - goin' to wait for me to nearly kiss you and then pull back and take the piss out of me. What was happenin' between us meant too much for me to let you relegate it to some joke."

"Silly sod," Bodie admonished. "Mind you, even I hadn't realised then I was in over me head," he added. "You were even better than my best fantasies."

"You fantasised about me?" Doyle asked, truly surprised. "How long you bin doin' that for?"

"Since the morning after that night with Nicole…"

Doyle grinned. "Another reason why you never mentioned it the next day."

"Yeah," Bodie agreed. "Think I was feeling a bit guilty." His voice took on a more distracted note as he asked, "Did you ever fantasise about me?"

"Sort of. Not in a really focused way. An' I don't need to now I've got the real thing."

Bodie smiled and then pulled away reluctantly. "We shouldn't be doing this on duty," he pointed out reasonably. "Better get some work done before you get me all fired up."

Doyle gazed at him, his expression all innocence.

"You," Bodie prodded him in the chest, "seem to have an innate understanding of which buttons to press. That's dangerous, that is."

"Why?"

"'Cos I haven't sussed out a decent form of defence yet. It means until I do, you'll get your wicked way with me any time you want."

"I don't have a problem with that," Doyle smiled.

Bodie's eyes twinkled. "Well, I do!"

"Don't you think it's the same for me?"

Bodie cocked his head to one side as if deciding whether his partner were being serious or not. "Is it?" he asked after a pause.

Doyle was amazed at the insecurity that his partner seemed to be displaying. Smiling gently, he answered, "Yeah, course it is, you berk."

The smile was answered and a kiss dropped onto the end of his nose. "True. How could anyone resist a good-looking bloke like me. Perfection personified, I am."

Bodie's more assured demeanour allowed Doyle to tease. "Yeah right. An' I'm the King of Siam."

"Shall we dance…?" Bodie sang, bowing deeply.

Doyle laughed. "You prat. C'mon pardner, we've got work to do." With that, he led the way out of the room.

They first made their way to Mrs. Falkener's bedroom. Not knowing where it was, they had tried a number of rooms on the first floor and discovered that Julian Falkener had his own suite of rooms at the other end of the house. It didn't come as a surprise.

Their bedrooms were quite a contrast: his all dark blues and greens with mahogany furniture, Mrs. Falkener's pinks and whites with an abundance of lace and frills. Her room was dominated by a large pine-wood four-poster bed which Bodie seemed unable to resist sitting and bouncing on.

Doyle smiled at his partner's antics. "D'you think she's watchin' us?" he asked, making a conscious effort not to glance out the window.

"Doubt it. Wouldn't see much in the daytime anyway," Bodie pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, well in case she is lookin', better keep our hands to ourselves."

Bodie grinned and winked. "I'll try, but I'd better warn you that the thought of ravishing you on this bed might overwhelm me."

"Gawd, what an 'orrible thought." Distaste was very clearly evident.

"Didn't think I was that bad," Bodie pouted.

"The bed, not you, you silly sod," said Doyle, knowing full well Bodie had understood it perfectly the first time.

Bodie chuckled and ruffled Doyle's hair affectionately.

"Oi, gerroff! said Doyle, ducking out of the way.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Bodie asked reasonably.

Doyle shrugged. "Dunno. Anythin' suspicious that might give us a clue about her death, I s'pose. Since you like this room so much, I'll let you have it to yourself. I'll try his room - 's much more to my taste!"

Two hours later, the two men met in the kitchen, looking despondent. Doyle had made them coffee.

"Well, what did we expect? Too much to hope she kept a diary," said Bodie philosophically.

Doyle leant back on a kitchen chair. "Nothin' to point to the suicide bein' anything else, except for what Dr. Carter's told us."

"You think she made it up then?"

"It's a possibility. She could be a bit unstable…I mean, she's a bleedin' voyeur!"

Bodie seemed to consider Doyle's words for a moment. "Nah, I think she's on the level," he said with finality.

Doyle looked at him, but said nothing.

"It's a gut feeling," Bodie tried to explain. "The fact that this place is clean could be because we're dealing with a pro. He knew about the surveillance stuff. Took all the tapes…"

"The tape…" interrupted Doyle.

"What?" Bodie looked confused.

Doyle stood up. "Did you see one of those video recorder things anywhere?"

"Only the ones in the security room, why?"

"Neither did I. But I found a tape in one of the drawers in a room upstairs…" Doyle looked excited.

"I'm missing something. You mean, she took one of the tapes last night and put it in there?"

"Doubt it - but if whoever it was came round last night had been before…" With that he left the room in a hurry.

Bodie was waiting for him in the security room and a few minutes later they were watching people arriving at the Falkener's house for what looked like a formal party. The camera was located outside, trained on the drive and front door.

"Picture quality's a bit iffy."

Doyle squinted to see the faces of the people on the screen. "Yeah, but this records at slower speeds than the ones for the telly. You're bound to lose some of the definition."

"Blimey, Royal patronage, no less," said Bodie, as a large black car with a crest pulled up in front of the house. "Gawd knows who it is, though."

"Prince and Princess Michael of Kent. He's all right - down to earth - but she's a bit of a bitch; stuck up, too."

"Oh excuse me. Didn't know you moved in those circles - what!" Bodie said with what was supposed to be an upper class accent.

"You know full well I did six months with the Royal protection squad." The memory of it made Doyle scowl.

"Can see you enjoyed every minute of it…hang about - look! Him!" Bodie pointed excitedly at the screen.

"Go back…stop it there." The picture wobbled, with lines of interference making it worse. "Shit, that's no good. Play it through again."

Bodie pressed the play button. They watched as a red Jaguar pulled up and a white-haired man stepped out, followed by a fair-haired woman in a long gown.

"What do you think?"

"Forward the tape - see what else is on there." They hit the jackpot as further along the tape were shots from the two other cameras, and a clear shot of the mysterious white-haired man.

Bodie went back to Dr. Carter and brought her round.

"Oh yes, that's definitely him," she agreed. "No doubt about it."

"Any idea who he is?" Doyle asked her hopefully.

"None, I'm afraid. That was a ball Mrs. Falkener held to raise money for one of the charities she is…er…was… involved in. I was working that night, and by the time I got home, it was all over - not that I'd've been invited," she added with a smile. "I'm not grand enough." There was no malice in the statement, just amusement. "I'm not surprised she kept this record of it. Quite typical, I'd say."

"She was a snob," Bodie interpreted.

"You could say that. She was well-connected and liked everyone to know it, although I gather it was mostly through her husband - he's aristocracy, you know."

 

The roads were busy with rush-hour traffic as they worked their way towards the motorway. Despite the blower being on full and the windows wide open, the two men still felt too hot.

"Wonder what Cowley's got," said Bodie as he sat slumped in the passenger seat. They had called him with their news as soon as Carter had gone.

"Dunno, but it sounded urgent. He seemed excited by the stuff we've got - you reckon he knows something?"

"I don't doubt it. He's a sly old fox," Bodie grinned. There was a note of affection in his voice. Then his face clouded over.

Doyle was quick to notice. "What?"

"Can't imagine what I…what we'd do, if Cowley does kick us out."

Doyle took Bodie's right hand, which was scrunched into a fist, and gave it a squeeze. "Maybe if we get to the bottom of this case it might help him realise the place will fall apart without us," he grinned. Through Bodie's hand he felt the tension his light words caused. "Seriously, I think if he accepts the terms, we all win. He's always been unconventional; I reckon that should count for us."

"Suppose we'll find out soon enough."

Doyle felt pleased when Bodie opened his fingers up to interlace them with his. The palm was clammy, belying Bodie's surface calm. He found that oddly unsettling.


	8. Chapter 8

"What took you so long?" was Cowley's gruff greeting. "Where's the tape and where's Bodie?"

Bodie staggered into the office, sweating profusely, carrying a large piece of equipment.

Cowley stood up. "What…?"

"It's a recorder from Falkener's house. Didn't think we'd have one here that plays these things," he explained holding up the tape they'd brought with them.

"We've got video players here! What were you thinking, man?"

"Not this type. It's Phillips - some weird format. And it records and plays the tapes very slowly."

The CI5 Controller paced up and down as they set the equipment up with a TV that Anson managed to procure from somewhere. It was Cowley calling Betty to tell Jax to join them in his office that made Doyle suspicious there was more to the case than they knew. A look at his partner confirmed Bodie was thinking the same thing.

When all were present, Bodie played the tape. "That's him! Blackwell," said Cowley excitedly. "And Carter gave you a positive ID, you say?"

"Yes sir," said Bodie. "And she described the Jag before seeing this film."

"The man's getting sloppy, driving his own car. He has the arrogance of someone who thinks he's safe - beyond suspicion, which is to our advantage."

Doyle knew he'd heard the name Blackwell recently, and there was another piece of the jigsaw he was certain he knew, but with so much happening in the past few days, he couldn't think what it was. "What's all this about?" he asked finally, defeated for the moment.

Cowley looked at Doyle grimly. "It's about rot and greed and corruption, 4.5." He smiled, a hard, calculating smile that failed to touch his eyes. "But we are going to put a stop to it." Glancing around the room at his men he added, "We'll meet in the main briefing room in five minutes to plan our next steps. We're going to have to go very, very carefully on this one."

"Anson?" The name was an unspoken question as they stood outside the controller's office, Jax already heading towards the restroom.

The operative looked at Bodie and then to Doyle. "Very hush, hush. MI6." He tapped his nose and turning, ambled away.

Doyle shrugged resignedly. "Suppose we'll find out soon enough." He looked at Bodie; really looked at him and cocked his head to one side. "You look like shit, mate. You not gettin' enough sleep?"

Bodie grinned. "No thanks to you," he answered quietly. "Too hot to sleep properly in the car."

Doyle chuckled. "Need a slash - go make us a cuppa, will you?"

Bodie pouted, hands on hips. "You just take me for granted, you do," he said at the retreating back.

"Really?" Cowley asked laconically as he exited his office.

Bodie flushed and headed towards the rest room with alacrity, leaving a thoughtful Scotsman watching after him.

In the briefing room, Doyle sat down and accepted the mug of coffee from his partner as their boss pinned some photos to the board.

When Cowley was done, he turned around. "This man," he said, pointing to a photo of the white-haired man in the video, "is Charles Blackwell, MI6. He was here with Willis three days ago and I had dinner with him the night before last."

Finally, the picture was clearing for Doyle and the hazy thoughts nagging at the back of his mind coalesced. He'd seen Blackwell outside Cowley's office, and the red Jaguar he'd seen in the car park and assumed was Willis' must have been his. He wasn't happy with his sloppy detective work - a clear case of his private concerns affecting his professional performance. He sighed.

"Looking back," continued Cowley, "I can see he was trying to get information from me - oh, he was very subtle about it, but now I see what he was doing. Blackwell's an ex-field agent and was recently promoted, making him one of Willis' right-hand men.

"And this," indicating the next photo, "is David Fuller, also MI6. Fuller has been one of the prime suspects in this recent investigation of MI6. Brucker here," he pointed to a photo, a face neither Bodie nor Doyle were likely to forget, "was prepared to name Fuller, but didn't get the chance. By telling us that Fuller was our spy, the focus of the investigation would have moved away from Blackwell, who I now have every reason to believe is the biggest fish in this particular sea." He paused for a moment to let that fact sink in with everyone.

"Now Brucker worked for the East Germans and has a shady past. This," he touched a photo obviously taken in a morgue, "was Krehl, Murphy's informant. There is evidence to suggest he and Brucker were connected. From the post-mortem we know both were heroine addicts. As you all know, I don't believe in coincidences. It's possible Brucker was Krehl's pusher and offered to keep him supplied if Krehl did some work for him. He'd promised 6.2 some information on the MI6 double agent and also something about the British Government, but it was never delivered - at least not at the time. Krehl may have realised his life was in danger and was taking no chances by sending Murphy the key to a safety deposit box at Victoria Station. In it was an envelope containing a piece of paper with two names on: Fuller and Blackwell."

"So Murph was going to pay £1,000 for Blackwell's name?" Jax asked, speaking up for the first time. "How does that fit in with Krehl's story about something big on the elections?"

"We'll come to that in a moment," Cowley answered. "Anson…?" he added.

"It's almost certain," began Anson, "that Krehl was only supposed to tip Murphy off about Fuller, who's a double agent someone's decided was expendable. As has already been said, Fuller was supposed to get picked up and the investigation into MI6 would have been concluded, leaving Blackwell fat and happy. But Krehl obviously knew a lot more, and was willing to spill the beans, for a price.

"Guessing his life may have been in danger, he left the names in the locker as a back-up. If everything had gone OK yesterday, he'd have been a thousand pounds richer. If he was killed, he'd take those responsible with him."

Anson turned specifically to Bodie. "If you think about it, Brucker seemed very keen to tell us about Fuller. He hinted he was going to spill the beans to Murph and then to you. It has to be a set up."

"Yeah, makes sense," Bodie agreed.

Cowley stepped forward to the board again. "So, now we get to the crux of the matter. These," he indicated four photos, "you'll probably recognise as Julian Falkener, Philip Hargreaves, Rupert Taylor-Smith and Douglas McAllister - all politicians. McAllister, you know was forced to resign after the papers were sent pictures of him with a paid prostitute - Salome Ngora. Taylor-Smith resigned over allegations of corruption, Hargreaves was forced to resign after we discovered his involvement with Mrs. Falkener to smear her husband's name in their own personal bid to get Falkener to resign. Ironically, Falkener actually resigned for other reasons, but today news broke about his homosexuality, his wife's 'suicide' and the lovers she claims to have had. All this is not exactly publicity the government needs only weeks before a General Election. The fact that so many ministers have been targetted in so short a time has convinced the Prime Minister and the Cabinet that some organisation is conspiring to prevent them returning to power."

"Surely you're not suggesting…" Jax began, disbelief evident on his face.

"That this is a deliberate attempt to destabilise the current government? Aye, I'm afraid I am. The way things stand at the moment, there is every possibility the Opposition will be voted in in the forthcoming elections and it's almost entirely due to the adverse publicity all these scandals have generated." The weight of the world suddenly seemed to be upon the shoulders of the CI5 controller.

"So where does Blackwell fit in?" Bodie asked. "You reckon he's working for the East German's?"

Doyle spoke up. "I'd say now that we know Blackwell's involved, it's more likely to be the Soviets. Who else?"

"Aye, that's the conclusion I've come to," said Cowley.

"Why would the Soviet's be trying to get rid of this government?" Jax asked, perplexed.

"Any number of reasons," answered Cowley. "If the current opposition were to gain power, détente would almost certainly improve. That would have the effect of lessening the cold war, which would result in a massive reduction in their defence expenditure. Considering the state of the Soviet Union's economy, that's one powerful incentive on its own. Another would be a likely reduction in certain trade embargos to and from the Soviet Union, which could also improve their economy…"

"Do you think anyone in the opposition party is involved in all this?" Doyle interrupted.

"It is a possibility, although I think it highly unlikely. There's just too much at stake - we're talking treason here. All the same, I'll personally instigate an investigation into the whole matter, conducted to the highest levels."

"Where does Blackwell tie in with McAllister?" Bodie asked.

Jax leant forward to speak. "After we got those names this morning, I went back to see if anything had turned up on Salome Ngora and Errol Brown. You know both of them vanished without trace right at the time it hit the headlines - no-one's seen either of them since. Ngora has a four year old daughter and I finally found out today that the girl's being looked after by some friends. They'd kept the fact they had Ngora's kid quiet, they say, because she often left her daughter with them and disappeared for a few weeks at a time. I think they were hoping she wouldn't come back, so they could keep the kid. I showed them some photos - Fuller, McAllister, Brucker and Blackwell. They claimed not to recognise any of them, but the kid seemed to know Blackwell. She took one look at the photo and started to cry; seemed scared of him."

"I doubt Ngora or Brown are still alive" Cowley said, echoing the thoughts of all the agents.

"Why did Blackwell kill Mrs. Falkener and what's his involvement with Hargreaves?" Jax asked.

"We can only speculate on that," said Cowley. "But I think Blackwell gave Mrs. Falkener the idea of ruining her husband's career by spreading rumours of a breach in security…"

"But Mrs. Falkener only mentioned Hargreaves when I interviewed her," Doyle pointed out. "She said it had all been his idea."

"Indeed," agreed Cowley. "Maybe Blackwell had something on her to stop her mentioning his name to anyone…"

"Why would Blackwell do that to Julian Falkener if they were friends?" Anson asked.

Cowley smiled. "They went to the same school - but just because he and his wife attended their parties doesn't necessarily make them friends. Certainly Hargreaves was no friend of Falkener's. Blackwell being at the Falkener's ball may have been purely coincidental, or may even have been engineered. Becoming her confidante wouldn't have been too difficult. He probably told her all about her husband's affair with Michael Todd and how serious it was.

"The idea of suggesting a rumour that her husband was a security breach was a clever one, considering MI6 was under investigation by then - not that Mrs. Falkener would have known about that. But Hargreaves would have, which is why he probably latched onto it. If Hargreaves had known Blackwell was involved, I doubt he'd have gone along with it, which is probably what Blackwell told Mrs. Falkener.

"Our new Defence Minister, Michael Norton still wasn't in the running for the Minister's job at that time. When Hargreaves got it, the Prime Minister was informed of his affair with Mrs. Falkener during the vetting procedure, and told Hargreaves he'd have to drop her if he wanted the job. Julian Falkener's timing of his resignation could not have been worse for his wife, or better for Blackwell and she went off the deep end.

"I think Blackwell had originally assumed that MI6 would investigate the rumours and perhaps even set Julian Falkener up. As it turned out, it was CI5 who got involved - which, of course, he would have known about at his level. I suspect he'd always planned on urging Mrs. Falkener to reveal Hargreaves part in the rumours, forcing his resignation. But once Hargreaves was given the Defence Minister's job, it became vital to his overall plan.

"Realising Mrs. Falkener, in her unstable state was becoming a liability, he decided to kill her and make it look like a suicide, at the same time ensuring the government got even more publicity it could do without.

"So, that leaves one more person: Michael Norton. He was named Hargreave's replacement yesterday as Defence Minister - the third man to fill that position in less than a month. The usual process for top politicians and civil servants going into sensitive areas, is to have MI5, MI6 and CI5 vet them. Norton's name, with two others, was given to me yesterday - I personally did the check and like MI5, cleared all three, although I did flag the fact that Norton, during his idealistic youth, once signed up with the Communist party. He'd been considered for the job before, but the Prime Minister had then decided against him. Interestingly this time, of the three names we were given, Willis apparently only cleared Norton. The question is, who at MI6 did Norton's check?"

"Blackwell," said Doyle.

Cowley nodded. "I'd lay bets on it."

"But what's the point of the Soviets ensuring he gets there if they're trying to topple this government? He's not going to keep his job for long." Anson pointed out.

"Good question. With the election only three weeks away and with opinion polls giving the opposition a bigger lead daily, it doesn't seem to make sense. But if Norton's also working for the Soviets, how much intelligence could be gathered in three weeks? Norton's new to the job and will be expected to appraise himself of all current projects…"

"Jesus!" said Bodie, recognising the import of Cowley's words. "Have you told the Prime Minister yet sir?"

"No, because until now I had no evidence. First I needed to know whether there were any links between all these people. Anson here has spent a very productive day in records." Cowley stepped back, indicating the agent should speak for himself.

"We already knew Falkener and Hargreaves went to Eton," began Anson. "Coincidentally, Blackwell was another pupil, which may or may not explain Blackwell's appearance on that tape. Falkener and Hargreaves went on to Oxford, while Blackwell went to Cambridge, the same university as Fuller and Norton."

"Granted they're not all the same age," interrupted Cowley. "But there is one year when they would have all been attending at the same time."

"Didn't Philby, Burgess, Blake and McLean attend Cambridge?" Jax asked.

"Indeed they did," confirmed Cowley, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "When Oblomov defected to the west fifteen years ago, he told us about James Winterton, a Cambridge Don, who occasionally recruited for the Soviets. Realising we were onto him, he unfortunately committed suicide. With hundreds graduating from Cambridge every year, we couldn't suspect everyone. There were patterns to his recruitment and all those we thought were potential targets were thoroughly investigated. It's clear that some fell through the net and we're now going to have a lot more investigating to do."

"When are you going to tell the Prime Minister all this?" Bodie asked.

"I'm not sure - it's impossible to say how far the rot goes. At the moment, the only people who know are the occupants of this room. It must remain that way until we have Blackwell securely under lock and key. When we interrogate him, we may find out who he's working for, but I don't hold out much hope. For the time-being, I'm assuming it's the Soviets.

"I already have Lucas and McCabe watching his house. He has a wife and 10 year old son. We'll go in tonight and pick him up. Departure from HQ is 21:00 hours. In the meantime I want you to study the layout of the house - Bodie and Doyle will be going in with me, Lucas and McCabe can cover the front, Anson and Jax the back. There are photos of Maria Blackwell, and their son Toby here.

"Remember, I doubt he'll give up without a fight." Cowley's face looked grim. With that, he left the four operatives to discuss tactics.

 

Before leaving H. Q. Cowley established that Blackwell and his family were home. Next, he contacted the local police to notify them of the operation and requested that the ends of the road be discreetly sealed off. It took Bodie only ten minutes to drive Cowley and Doyle to Blackwell's address. Passing through the cordon, he parked the Rover at the end of the street. Jax and Anson were already in place.

Blackwell's house stood in a quiet, tree-lined road in Chelsea. Typical of the area, it stood in a terrace arranged over three floors - with steps leading directly up from the street to the front door on the middle floor. Despite its modest appearance, the area was so exclusive that one could buy a small manor-house in several hundred acres of land in the north of England for the price of their house.

"Alpha to 7.1. Report." Tension was clear in his voice.

"7.1 here sir. He's in the front room middle floor, sir. We have him in sight."

"Good. Let's go. Alpha One out."

As they walked down the street, Lucas and McCabe emerged from the house opposite and waited nearby. Heart pounding in anticipation, Cowley walked to the top of the steps with Bodie leaving Doyle, for the present, at the bottom. Through the open window of the front room where Blackwell was located, they could hear the strains of Wagner coming to them. As Bodie pressed the bell, all three drew their guns.

It was Blackwell's son Toby who answered. Before he could say a word, Bodie grabbed him, wrapping his hand around his face to gag him and, picking him up easily, passed him to Lucas who had stepped forward. Once over the initial shock, the child began kicking and punching, trying to escape as the operative carried him down the road towards a waiting panda car.

Cowley entered, noting Bodie was close behind. He paused a moment as Doyle, without a word, passed them and headed silently upstairs, while Bodie made his way towards the back of the house and the stairs to the basement.

"Who is it Toby?" called Blackwell.

Cowley, gun in hand, entered the front room, pleased the element of surprise had worked, as the MI6 agent was sitting at his desk oblivious to the raid.

"Good evening, Blackwell," he said.

"Major Cowley." If he was surprised by the intrusion, he didn't show it.

Cowley kept his gun trained on Blackwell, peripherally aware that Bodie had entered the room. That meant he'd completed his search of the basement and the floor they were on. There was no sound from Doyle on the next floor.

"No-one in any of the rooms down here, sir."

"She must be upstairs," he answered, not taking his eyes off Blackwell.

Bodie's R/T went off. Holstering his gun, Bodie thumbed the control.

"4.5 to 3.7."

Cowley glanced at Bodie, noticing him smile at the sound of Doyle's voice.

"3.7 here."

"I've…"

The R/T went dead and almost simultaneously, a gun went off upstairs.

"Ray!" Bodie shouted into his radio.

For a split second, the gunshot distracted Cowley and Blackwell took full advantage by diving for him, knocking him into Bodie and the gun from his hand. From seemingly nowhere, he pulled one of his own on the Controller.

"Drop it," he commanded Bodie whose recovery had been only fractions of a second too slow.

"You! Up," he said gruffly to Cowley.

Cowley did as he was told and glanced across at Bodie. The operative's face was totally closed off, not one emotion visible as he stared at Blackwell. The only perceptible sign of stress was the vein on Bodie's neck, standing out as adrenaline ensured his heart pumped plenty of blood around his body; and not for flight, he knew that much from the stance.

Of course, realised Cowley. Something had happened to Doyle upstairs - he could be dead for all they knew; it had certainly gone very quiet up there. His immediate concern was that he had no way of knowing how this situation would affect Bodie - whether it would make him unpredictable or worse, unstable. For now, however, Bodie appeared to be going along with Blackwell.

"You do realise this house is surrounded," Cowley said, more calmly than he felt.

"Of course," Blackwell said, and actually smiled.

"So why don't you just give me your gun? Why fight when you know it's over?"

"Because I have a joker to play, Major. As you know, the Soviets captured two MI5 agents last month. I think you'll find they might be willing to bargain to hand them over in exchange for me and my family."

"You're not serious."

"Oh, I am," said Blackwell. "It would be a political coup to get those agents back - no-one need ever mention it was an exchange. As for me going to the Soviet Union, it was only a matter of time. I was planning on defecting there with my family in a few months anyway."

"The Prime Minister would never agree to it," he said. Even as he said the words, he knew that in fact the possibility was very real; and Blackwell knew it too. The thought that this man - this murderer - was going to get away scot-free, appalled him.

He glanced at Bodie to find that the operative hadn't moved an inch in the minutes they'd been talking, the expression on his face still carved in stone. That Doyle still hadn't appeared since the shot was fired was a bad sign.

He turned back to Blackwell. "So what now?"

The next few seconds seemed to Cowley to run in slow motion. A shot was fired from outside, hitting Blackwell in the chest, making his arm jerk and the gun go off as he went down. His reflexes nowhere near as fast as they used to be, Cowley moved, but the bullet hit him in the shoulder - the pain was excruciating. Bodie dived onto Blackwell too late to prevent the shot.

Through the open window came the shrill tone of a child screaming, calling for his father.

Cowley felt detached from what was going on around him. He watched as Bodie checked Blackwell, who was unconscious or possibly dead. Satisfied, the operative moved to where he lay and pulled his jacket back to see how badly he was injured. The blank look was still there.

"Think you'll be OK sir," he said quietly. Cowley felt him pull his shirt out of his trousers and rip it to make a pressure pad. When the operative pushed against the wound, he bit his lip to stop crying out.

"Got to slow down the bleeding sir," Bodie explained. "Once your heart slows down, it'll be all right."

"Doyle," he said weakly. In the distance he could hear the siren of an ambulance. "Where…"

"Blackwell's still alive," Bodie said, interrupting him, seemingly deliberately ignoring his words.

As the door to the room opened, Bodie's gun was aimed at it; he hadn't even seen Bodie retrieve his firearm.

Maria Blackwell entered and gazed blankly at her husband lying in a growing pool of blood. Doyle followed her into the room, his gun in his left hand trained on her back. The Controller glanced at Bodie as the operative caught sight of his partner. For the first time, he could clearly read the emotion there, raw and naked on his face and when Cowley looked at Doyle, he saw the look mirrored. A moment later it had gone as Doyle glanced down at him where he lay on the floor.

"He'll be all right," said Bodie, speaking for the first time. "You OK?" he added, indicating with a nod the fact that Doyle wasn't holding his gun in his usual hand.

"Not sure whether any fingers are broken," replied Doyle. "I'm all right. I'll take her out." With that, he pulled Maria's arm none too gently.

As Cowley lay on the floor in pain, being tended to by a relieved-looking Bodie, he realised he now had the answer to a question which had been bothering him: how would his two best operatives cope in a situation when one thought the other could be injured or dead. During this operation, there had been a time when neither could be sure if the other was all right, yet both continued to perform to the highest standards he could hope for.

 

To Doyle, the air in the house seemed to be stifling. As he reached the open door, Maria in front of him, he took several lungfuls of cool air.

"Watch her," he told McCabe as he handed the woman over. "She's got a black-belt in something. Think she's broken my hand," he added plaintively. McCabe grinned at him and Doyle knew he hadn't heard the last of it. "Get an ambulance," he added. "Cowley's been shot."

His charge gone, Doyle holstered his gun and, grasping his abused fingers, returned to the living room. Inside, the tableau hadn't changed, Bodie kneeling beside Cowley and Blackwell… He reached for his gun and, instead of changing hands as he would normally, kept the gun in his left hand and fired it unerringly at Blackwell's heart.

From his kneeling position, Bodie spun round to look at Blackwell. In his hand, the MI6 agent still clutched the gun he had managed to reach unnoticed.

"He was about to shoot you," Doyle said to Bodie.

Bodie grinned. "Lucky you're ambidextrous then, innit?"

McCabe appeared in the doorway, his gun ahead of him.

"S'OK mate, all under control," said Bodie. "Got that ambulance?"

McCabe leaned out into the hall. "In here," he said and a moment later, two paramedics appeared, bearing a stretcher.

Doyle seemed to be the only one to notice that the Wagner was still playing, recognising the haunting tune as Seigfried's Funeral Music. Stepping over Blackwell's body, he reached the stereo and lifted the needle from the record.

 

"You were lucky, Mr. Doyle," explained the doctor. "Your fingers are just badly bruised. Try to avoid using them for a while."

Doyle tried an experimental flex of the fingers and gasped in pain. "Not likely to - hurts too much."

Following the doctor out into the casualty waiting room he caught sight of Bodie.

"He's to rest his hand," the doctor explained to Bodie as he joined them. "You'll have to drive him home."

"Yeah? Think I can manage that."

As soon as the doctor had left them he asked Bodie, "How's Cowley?"

"Bloody lucky - it was a flesh wound - looked worse than it was, 'cos he bled so much. They're keeping him in, though."

Doyle grinned. "I'll bet he's pleased about that."

"Ecstatic!" Bodie agreed with a smile. "The best of it is we're on standby from 08:00 tomorrow, but we get to do it from your flat."

"Is that good or bad news?" Doyle asked, worried. Cowley had yet to pronounce on their fate.

"Dunno. C'mon, let's go."

The road was empty at that time of the night.

"So, what happened to you then?" Bodie casually asked.

Doyle knew exactly what he was referring to. "Her profile failed to mention she's not only a karate expert, but knows how to use a gun."

"Yeah? What'd she do then?"

Doyle sighed. "I found her in the back bedroom, an' caught her unawares. That's when I called you on R/T. She managed to kick the gun out of my hand an' it went off. Then she pulled one on me from nowhere."

He could still vividly remember her at her moment of triumph. Although quite an attractive woman, she had sneered at him, making her face ugly. 'Never underestimate your prey - isn't that how you're trained, Doyle?' She had laughed, but it hadn't touch her eyes.

And it was true - he still couldn't believe that their positions had reversed so quickly. How could he have been so stupid? But that kick had been well executed and highly effective, telling him she was very well trained in such things.

"How did you disarm her?"

Doyle shook his head, still not believing his luck. "Used the same tactic she did."

"Eh?"

Doyle smiled. "We heard the gun go off a couple of times downstairs. She didn't move - cool as a cucumber. It was just after the second time. Her kid called his dad - the windows were all open an' we heard him shoutin'. Just for a second, she was distracted an' I did a rugby tackle on her."

Bodie chuckled. "Very gallant of you."

"Wasn't takin' any chances. How come the kid was there? Thought Lucas'd taken him off."

"Apparently they brought him back to use him to try an' get Blackwell to surrender. Then McCabe saw he could get a clear shot of him with the rifle. No time to get the kid away. The rest, as they say, is history."

Doyle twisted around in his seat so he could look at Bodie while he drove. The remainder of the journey was undertaken in thoughtful silence and before long, they arrived at Doyle's apartment block.

The moment they were inside the door, Doyle's lips were captured in a hard, searing kiss, his body enfolded in strong arms. Their tongues duelled and Doyle relaxed against his lover, his cock hardening. A push against Bodie and he met an answering firmness. The urgency was overwhelming. Bodie ground his hips against him, his lips against his mouth. His senses reeled with all that was Bodie: the heat of him, the odour of his sweat, the feel of his stubble, the taste of his mouth. Bodie inflamed him, liquid fire coursing through his veins, igniting his body with a need that only Bodie could assuage.

The pressure of their bodies pushing together wasn't enough - he wanted more. Panting, Doyle managed to push Bodie back far enough to get to his belt, but only being able to use his left hand, he started to fumble. A moment later, Bodie was helping him, undoing his own trousers, then Doyle's. A cool hand grasped his swollen shaft in a firm grip and he gasped at the feel, at the knowledgeable fingers which pumped him. Reaching inside Bodie's trousers, he took the cock, satin soft, yet unyielding and wet with pre-cum. Bodie pulled him back to kiss him hard and their cocks kissed too. The sensations were building inside him, his balls tightening in anticipation. All the tensions and all the fears of that day were focused on this act they were performing together. The pressure built to intolerable levels and then Doyle came, the orgasm a necessary catharsis. He cried out at the intensity of it, still pumping Bodie hard until his lover came, spilling over his hand, over their cocks, mingling with his own spent seed.

As their breathing calmed down, Bodie pulled back and grinned. "Not exactly a pair of romantics, are we?"

For the first time, Doyle became aware of their trousers and pants dropped halfway down their thighs and damp patches of semen splattered over their shirts. But the wonderful thing about it all was that he felt no self-consciousness, no shame; felt completely at ease to be himself with Bodie; to give and take what he needed without ceremony.

"Needed that," he said and smiled.

"Yeah," Bodie agreed.

They made use of the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for bed. That done, Bodie turned to him. "C'mon," he said taking Doyle's left hand and leading him to the bedroom with a smile. "Let's get goldilocks undressed and into a nice comfy bed."

"What, no porridge?" Doyle grinned.

"I can give you all the nourishment you need," said Bodie with a leer.

"Yeah, promises, promises."

 

Doyle felt as if he was a treasured gift that Bodie was unwrapping. Gentle, efficient hands gradually removed his clothing and as more of his body was revealed, the look of awe on Bodie's face became more pronounced. His pants were the last to go and Bodie knelt on the floor, carefully pulling them away from his growing erection. Bodie had only got them part way down when he stopped and pushed his face into his groin, the sight causing a tremor to run through Doyle's body.

"Any chance of you catchin' me up," he asked Bodie, who was still fully clothed. "An' we're goin' to have to go easy tonight - me hand's killin' me."

As his lover stood up and started to undo the buttons on his shirt, he realised Bodie was shaking; shaking so much he could hardly co-ordinate his movements. With his right hand useless, he couldn't offer help, and so waited patiently until Bodie had finished undressing, noting that his lover's arousal had almost gone. He climbed into bed and as soon as Bodie had finished undressing, held the duvet up for him.

Doyle snuggled against Bodie, his head resting on his lover's firm shoulder.

"Love you." Quietly spoken, came the most precious words in the world.

Doyle went absolutely still. Had he really heard that, or just imagined it? He pushed himself up onto his left arm and gazed down into Bodie's face.

Bodie reached up and ran a shaking hand over his face and into his hair. "God help me Ray, I love you and it scares me to death."

Doyle was awash with emotions, the uppermost being happiness. "You put that so nicely," he said, smiling.

Bodie smiled back. "'S true. It frightens me what I feel for you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I came to the same conclusion about you. I reckon I'm about as in love with you as you are with me. Christ knows how or when it happened. Think it just crept up on me." He ran the bruised fingers of his hand gently over Bodie's face, feeling the scrape of his five o'clock shadow graze his fingertips and then he smiled. "Love you, Bodie." There. He'd said it now. The words he'd never said to a single one of his partners - even Ann.

He found himself pulled into bear hug, with what sounded suspiciously like a sob. Doyle didn't think he could face any more emotion from Bodie without getting overly emotional himself, and so remained where Bodie had pulled him. They stayed like that for over a minute before Bodie let up on his tight hold. Doyle pushed up and placed a kiss on his lover's soft lips.

"When you stop an' think about it," Bodie continued, "I've always surrounded myself with blokes, like their friendship, like their company - even been with a few of them. As for birds, after all this time and all the women I've been out with, I've never really fallen for a single one. Don't have any problems sleeping with birds, but after everything we've been through the last few days, I've realised I could only love a man. Ray, the way I feel about you, I…"

Bodie stopped, his voice catching with emotion.

"Ah, lover," Doyle said quietly and kissed him deeply.

As soon as Doyle pulled back, Bodie admitted, "Nearly froze when your R/T went dead."

"But you stayed with it - didn't compromise the situation."

"Just stopped thinking."

"About me?" Doyle asked, "or about everything."

"About everything. Sort of went on autopilot."

"When you didn't come up to find out what was goin' on, I was startin' to think the worst about the first shot. When I came down after an' saw you… Well, didn't think Cowley'd've been too pleased if I'd done what my mind was tellin' me…."

"Which was…?" Bodie asked with a smile.

"Wanted to hug you."

Doyle felt the reverberations of Bodie's chuckle in his chest, where his head lay.

"He'd probably quote some of the fine print of our contract which says agents can't hug in public."

"An' if it's not there," Doyle said, "he'd add it just for the hell of it!"

They subsided into silence, finally broken by Doyle. "He was gonna shoot you, y'know."

"Who? Cowley?"

"Blackwell. When I came back in, he'd got hold of the gun an' was gettin' ready to aim it at you."

Doyle felt the arms about him tighten. "Why me and not Cowley?" Bodie wondered aloud.

"Cowley was already wounded, so you were more of a threat. Plus, you were an easier target from where he was." Doyle shuddered at the memory.

Doyle was manoeuvred so Bodie could kiss him. It was not a passionate embrace, though it embodied their feelings for one another; an affirmation of the love they had now admitted they felt.

"You know," said Bodie, after Doyle had subsided back to his previous position, "we've got a lot to thank Falkener for - more than just getting us together."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Told you at Falkener's house I'd been fantasising about you since Nicole…"

"What sort of fantasies?" Doyle asked, interrupting.

"Dunno. Going for a tumble with you, you know the sort of thing."

"Were you actually thinkin' about fuckin' me while you were havin' a wank?" He felt Bodie shift uncomfortably at the words and smiled to himself.

"Something like that," Bodie evaded.

Doyle pushed himself up and looked down at Bodie. "You're embarrassed, " he accused gently, as he traced a quirky eyebrow with a bruised finger.

"Never talked about that kind of thing to anyone before."

He could understand that. It wasn't something you talked to your girlfriend about - even he didn't do that and he wasn't as closed as Bodie.

Bodie seemed to come to some kind of inner decision. "I had my best orgasms when I was thinking about you fucking me," he admitted quietly. Before Doyle could say anything he added, "Was kidding myself they were only fantasies - you can do anything in a fantasy - didn't think I really wanted it, though."

"Ah, Bodie love, we're all good at practisin' self-deceit when we can't face up to somethin'. "

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Doyle patiently waited for Bodie to qualify the remark. He didn't have to wait long.

"You know when you got shot and I made myself scarce?" Bodie asked quietly.

"You were angry with me for fuckin' up. I let you down."

"Is that what you thought?" Bodie asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Isn't that why you buggered off?" Doyle asked uncertainly. "Thought you lost your trust in me. If I couldn't watch me own back, how could I watch yours?"

"You silly sod. Trust you to blame yourself - you been on a guilt trip all this time?" Bodie asked with a chuckle.

"So what did happen then?" Doyle asked, totally puzzled.

"When I didn't know if you'd pull through, I realised what your friendship meant to me and how much I relied on you. I didn't like that much dependency; it made me feel vulnerable. I was all ready to jack in the job and go back to Africa or where ever. I thought I could just walk away from you…I didn't need you. But when it came down to it, I couldn't do it. My tie to you was already too strong to break. At first, I resented you and your hold over me. I got a couple of days off and headed up to Scotland to get away from everything. Did a lot of thinking and realised I actually liked you a lot and like the fact that we're close; that we tell each other stuff we haven't told anyone else.

"Once I accepted everything, I decided to make bloody sure you got fit enough to get your job back so you could be where you belong." Bodie smiled up at him and ran his hand lightly through the curls.

"Christ Bodie. Don't know what to say." Doyle's voice cracked, his eyes full of unshed tears.

Bodie studied Doyle's face for a moment, then said quietly, "Tell me you love me again."

"Love you, Bodie. Never loved anyone like this."

"Just keep reminding me, and I'll be happy," Bodie said and pulled Doyle down into a lingering kiss.

"So, why are we thankin' Falkener?" Doyle asked when he got his breath back.

"It's not so much that he got us together that first time, although listening to him and Michael certainly got me in the mood. 'S just… I'm not sure I'd be here if I hadn't interviewed him."

Doyle remained absolutely still.

"He planted the seed in my head that maybe your idea of an exclusive relationship could work. The only experience I've had of sex with blokes was for pure gratification. No love; no tenderness; no softness, just lust. I was kidding myself that I didn't need any more than that with you - but that first night we already went further down that road than I'd been before - it's just I wasn't ready to see it then.

"When he started talking about Michael - d'you remember he said I wouldn't understand how he felt, loving another man - he said he loved Michael so much, he was going to give up everything for him. But Falkener was wrong - I did understand how he felt.

"As soon as we got out of that room, I had to get away and think. You know, it was like being hit by a thunderbolt. That was the exact moment when I realised I was in love with you. I knew, because I recognised the feelings he was describing - it's how I feel about you. I'd give everything up tomorrow for you. It's why I went along with you about telling Cowley. At the end of the day, I don't care whether I'm in CI5 or not, as long as I'm with you."

Doyle felt Bodie's grip on him increase, as if he was afraid to let go lest he drown in the swirl of emotions he was feeling. He held on just as tightly.

"An' when I got back, having just made and accepted one of the most momentous discoveries in my life, you were flirting with that bloody nurse…" Bodie's voice still held a note of hurt.

A lump formed in Doyle's throat. "I didn't know, love. You'd hurt me an' I was tryin' to show you I could get on without you. I wouldn't have gone with 'im, you know."

"No more hurting each other, eh Ray? Love you too much - don't want to ruin it."

"Wouldn't hurt you like that again, you know that."

Doyle pulled his head back and stretched to kiss Bodie's lips. The kiss quickly deepened and their arousal grew. Eventually he drew back from Bodie and smiled down at the beloved face. "Could do that forever - you're the best kisser I know."

"Yeah, noticed you like a good snog," Bodie grinned up at him. "Lucky I do too!" he said and proved it.


	9. Epilogue

Two days later, Cowley summoned them to his hospital bed.

Doyle stood behind Bodie as he stuck his head around the door. "Sir?"

"Come in, come in," came an exasperated voice.

Cowley was propped up in bed, his red striped pyjamas a contrast to his sandy-coloured hair, a slight scowl on his face. "Don't stand around cluttering up the room. Get those chairs and sit down."

"How are you feelin'," Doyle asked, and was favoured with an icy glare.

Bodie leant forward. "A little something for you sir."

Cowley peered into the bag, and apparently having learnt a lesson from the previous time he'd found himself in hospital, carefully pulled the grapes to one side, to reveal a small bottle of his favourite malt. A heartfelt smile crossed his face as he looked up. "Don't think this will help to butter me up, you two. You're here because there are a few things we need to go over." Cowley carefully placed the bag in the cupboard beside his bed. "Have you spoken to anyone today?" he asked the two men.

Bodie shook his head.

"No, why?" Doyle asked.

"It's not public yet, but Norton's been arrested on charges of espionage and treason."

Doyle whistled. "That's going to be the last nail in the coffin for this government, isn't it?"

"The Prime Minister has decided to keep this quiet until after the election. Norton is officially off sick with a viral infection. The Prime Minister also refused Willis' resignation."

"Pity," said Bodie.

"Aye, it is. But there's enough work to keep MI6 and CI5 going for several years. Investigations are already underway into the backgrounds of members of the Opposition party seeking any possible links with this whole sorry mess. The James Winterton case has also been re-opened, to see how many other double agents he may have recruited in his years at Cambridge, who may have slipped through the net. The Prime Minister needs someone with experience to run MI6, and with Blackwell gone, losing Willis would be too much at a time like this. Besides, Willis had nothing to do with Blackwell's appointment."

"Who did?" Doyle asked, curious.

"The Home Secretary, and before you ask, he's been given a clean bill of health. Just one of those unfortunate decisions. Now," Cowley added, favouring them with an icy look, "about you two."

 

Doyle sat in the passenger seat, staring at the traffic lights as he willed them to change to green. "Just when I think I've got the old man sussed, he goes an' does something totally unpredictable."

"Yeah," agreed Bodie, still in a semi-state of shock.

"So, what do we do now?"

Bodie stared at him. "Trouble with you is, you're totally lacking in imagination." An impatient hoot from the car behind prompted Bodie to pull away and just to make a point, pushed down hard on the accelerator, leaving the car behind in a haze of exhaust fumes.

Doyle seemed not to notice, still seemingly preoccupied with what Cowley had to say. "It was the last thing I expected from him. Lucky we were sittin' down."

Bodie grinned. "Fancy a visit to the seaside? Or we could go camping in the New Forest."

"I'm not campin' anywhere!" Doyle interjected, "…in either sense of the word!" he added with a grin.

"Pleased to hear it. Don't want you starting to mince about and going effeminate on me. Like you when you're all butch!" He threw a quick smile at Doyle, who didn't miss the twinkle in his eye. Now where was I…" Bodie asked, "…before you so rudely interrupted? Ah yes… fishing in Scotland; walking in the Lake District; barging on a canal in East Anglia; mountaineering in Snowdonia; sightseeing in Stratford; slumming in Fulham."

"Ah, now I like the sound of that one."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "You're a no-hoper, Doyle, you know that?"

"The Cow's not gonna love us if we return to work totally knackered, is he?"

"Oh, an' you were planning on sleeping the whole time we're in your flat then?" Bodie asked, a note of incredulity in his voice.

"Cowley's orders were to sort ourselves out so we don't mess up at work." He threw Bodie a leer. "We can do that at my place with no distractions."

"And four whole uninterrupted days to do it in. I still can't believe it - he's taken this whole thing bloody well, all things considered."

"Yeah," agreed Doyle. "He had a chance to see us dealin' with the worst case scenario where neither of us knew for certain if the other was still alive - an' we kept on doin' our job. 'E can't ask for more than that, can he? But it shows how much he must want to keep us."

"We're going to be CI5's only permanently running Operation Suzie!" grinned Bodie.

"'S not gonna be easy. That partin' shot of his about if so much as one person finds out, and we're out of CI5. It'll be hard keepin' it from the lads."

"They all think we're queer for each other anyway. Doubt they'll notice any difference."

"Yeah, well that's your fault for touchin' me up all the time," Doyle accused mildly.

"I never!"

"Non-stop. Always feelin' up my arse, playin' with me hair - even goosed me at that Christmas party before last."

"How could anyone resist your arse?" Bodie grinned.

"The others manage somehow," Doyle pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, well I'll probably stop all that now. Was probably doing it 'cos I couldn't have the real thing."

"You can now." There was a note in Doyle's voice which alerted Bodie. Since they were sitting in a jam, he took the time to study his partner's face.

"Any regrets?" he asked gently.

"Christ, no! Was just rememberin' the other night and it's makin' me randy."

"Yeah. Felt bloody amazing having you inside me. And when you hit that spot… Thought my balls would explode!"

Doyle grinned and adjusted his jeans. "Can we change the subject? Keep talkin' like that, and you'll strangle me dick permanently."

"Blimey, can't have that," said Bodie, waggling his eyebrows.

"At least we've got four days to work some of this out of our system…." Doyle trailed off and then burst out laughing.

"What…?"

"Gawd, I've just realised what the Cow's up to. The bastard's givin' us a bleedin' honeymoon!"

"Good tactics," approved Bodie with a smile. "If our balls aren't tied in knots, we can concentrate on our work."

The two men lapsed into silence for a while. Doyle broke it.

"Bodie mate."

"Hmmm?" He was only half listening as he navigated into a lane to turn onto Battersea Bridge.

"When are you gonna tell me what it was you told Nicole?"

"Dunno," grinned Bodie.

"What if I threaten to withdraw your rights to my body until you do?" Doyle attempted to inject a note of threat in his voice. It must have worked because Bodie glanced over to see if he was smiling or not. Doyle wasn't, but it was hard to suppress the urge.

"I told her you were my golly."

"You what?" Doyle was nonplussed.

"With hair like that, told her you were my bionic golly."

Doyle laughed. "Been wrackin' my brains for weeks tryin' to suss out what you said to her. Lost sleep over it. Even thought of callin' her to find out. Do you know, Bodie, you're a complete bastard," he said mildly.

"Don't like to do anything by halves!"

"Tell me about it!"

 

[finis]


End file.
